Locked and Loaded: The 26th Annual Hunger Games
by SetFiresJust2WatchThemBurn
Summary: When metal meets flesh, it's best to be the one holding the dagger. Because when you enter that Arena, good becomes bad, and bad becomes necessary. (SYOT) CLOSED!
1. The Wolf's Teeth Are Red

Prologue: The Wolf's Teeth Are Red

"_The lion's outside of your door, the wolf's in your bed_

_The lion's claws are sharpened for war, the wolf's teeth are red_

_And what a monstrous sight he makes, mocking man's best friend_

_Both the wolf and lion crave the same thing in the end…"_

_~The Lion and the wolf (Thrice)_

o0o

**Chase Sparks, Former Citizen of District 3**

I've been locked up here for 264 days. 6,336 hours. 380,160 minutes. I count the seconds as they tick by, constant as the steady _drip, drip, drip _of water in the corner of my cell. My world has become stone walls and iron bars narrowed down to gray and damp and _cold_. My life has shrunk to fit this tiny, god-forsaken room, and my body has shrunk to match. I haven't seen the sun for over a year, and I've given up any hope of ever seeing it again. President Seren is as cruel as he is calculating, and I have no hope of ever making it back home to my District in one piece and everything intact. A bitter laugh escapes my throat. _Intact_. I'm already broken. Battered, bruised, and _broken_. Sometimes I wonder why they keep me here, locked up. I've already refused to help them with that… _thing_. That thing that looks like man's best friend but isn't. It is some _abomination_ that shouldn't be in this world. A monster. A monster that stares at the world through eyes colored red and ears flattened to its metallic skull. Teeth bared in a permanent snarl. They wanted me to help. To program it to stalk and hunt and _kill_. I refused. Of course I did. What else could I have done? I couldn't have stood watching my creation rip innocent children to shreds in this year's Arena. Rather of the skin ripped off my back and my body beaten raw before I let that happen. So I said no. And I _paid for it._

I don't even remember why I'm here anymore. Sometimes I don't remember my own name. Those days are the worst when the black eats at my head and my heart and then all I see is _red, red, red, _and there's a voice in the back of my head that begs me to _just let the darkness take over._ On better days, my mind is clear and I am almost painfully aware of my surroundings. Of my desperate scratches onto the wall, counting the days since my imprisonment. Of the bones by the far wall, the human skull staring and staring and staring. Of the carved words on the wall, a warning and a plea and a statement all at the same time: _Cut off the wolf's head, but it still has the power to bite._

o0o

**Valkyrie Summers, Head Gamemaker**

"Report?" I snap, striding into the technology wing. All heads turn simultaneously to look at me with wide, terrified eyes and I have to resist the urge to roll my own. "I told you I would be checking in on you within the week," I explain crisply. "Now, _progress report._"

"Nothing has changed, Ms. Summers." A frightened-looking young woman stands from her desk. "The subject seems to have shown no signs of change for better or for worse. We have our best technicians working on its programming right now, Ms. Summers. F.A.N.G. should be ready for the Games by the Reapings.

I narrow my eyes. "The Reapings are only a week away."

A hurried nod. "Yes, ma'am."

"Are you sure your _technicians_ are skilled enough to fix this problem before the deadline?" I press. "I cannot have him imprinting on one of the tributes before we have decided who we want."

"Yes, ma'am." Another nod. "F.A.N.G should be ready for launch at 14:00 on Monday. At your beck and call."

I consider this for a moment, reveling in the blatant fear in her eyes before deciding, "Good. Resume your work."

o0o

**Anshar Vesper, Victor of the 25th Hunger Games**

I've always known I was strange. Even at a young age, it was distressingly obvious that I was not like the others my age. Normal boys from District 2 weren't supposed to be compassionate and love nature. Normal boys from District 2 were supposed to live for the sharp bite of the fletching of an arrow against their cheek or the weight of a sword in their hand. I didn't _understand_ the boys who preferred to spend time holed up in a stuffy room with sharp metal objects. Normal boys enjoyed crossing fake swords and lunchtime instead of actually eating their food or chucking darts and a board. I didn't_ understand_ the people who wanted to end lives instead of creating them and live their own. I didn't understand why the other boys _ate boogers. _(Even _I_ understood then that boogers _were. not. food.) _I hated the Nightfall Academy. I hated the curve of a bow beneath my fingers and the burden of a blade in my hand. I hated the Capitol when I had reached the decadent place. Despised the accents and the frills and the luxury of it and longed for home, for the rough feel of cotton and the scratch of my worn sheets against my skin. The accents near well drove me insane and all I longed for was _peace _and _quiet_ and to be _alone. _I had done nothing to deserve this. The Quell had demanded my District vote, someone in. Why couldn't they have voted in the strongest trainee at the Academy who had the odds stacked in his favor? Why _me?_ Me, the boy who loved flowers and climbing trees and the smell of the forest. Me, who had never handled a weapon with anything better than clumsiness and utter incompetence. But still. There I was, among the silks and expensive fabrics and many colors of the Capitol. Dressed up like some rich man's lapdog.

But then came the Arena. I still remember the screams of the boy from District 4 as he was ripped apart by the mutts sent by the Gamemakers. Still remember his cries and pleas for _someone to help him, kill him, please, please, please_. Remember the moment when I had taken up his fallen crossbow. Put it to my shoulder. Fired a clean shot that went straight through his neck. And then it was over. I had won. I was going home, I was the last one standing. But the roar of the Capitol, the Victory Tour, everything had seemed…. Empty. And then I began to see little bits of all the other dead tributes everywhere I went. The determination of the boy from 1 in the set of my little sister's jaw. The nervousness of the 10 boy in the twitches of a jackrabbit as it bounded past. I saw the cautious optimism of my District partner in my mother's every move. They were everywhere. I couldn't sleep, either, because every time I closed my eyes I would _see_ the razor-toothed mutts ripping into the forest-eyed boy, _hear_ his long, pained cry for mercy, only silenced when my bolt sank into his neck. But the worst part… the worst part comes when my dreams are not filled with gore or blood or agonized screams. It's when I see _him_, dressed in green and gold, a smile on his face and a rose in his hand. Of what we could have been, and what we will never be.

And now I am a mentor. Someone who will have to teach two kids just like me how to kill and let it roll off their skin like water off a duck's feathers. Teach them how to be serial killers with no remorse, no shame, no boundaries. Do what-the-fuck-ever you have to in order to survive and _don't fucking look back_. That's what I learned. I also learned that my heart was a treacherous thing, that love was something that, when it came to the Games, would only slow you down. Even if you feel like you're flying once you step off that cliff, all you're doing is falling, and the safety net is a long, long way down. Or maybe it's not there at all.

o0o

**A/N: There we go. What do you think? Love it? Hate it? Think it's okay? Whatever your opinion is, I want you to know that I'm thanking you from the bottom of my heart for reading this. The update schedule will be a tad bit inconsistent for the next few weeks because I'm still in the process of writing a new tribute. One of the forms I'd received was terribly empty, and despite that being partly my fault, the submitter also seems to have fallen off the map. Once I get my feet back under me, chapters will be coming once a day, but that's only because I've completed the whole story. Don't expect the next one to be so frequent. **

**Pertaining to reviews: I'm going to say this once, and I don't want to have to say it again: there is a difference between leaving a constructive review and one that is simply negative and downright rude. I'm open to **_**constructive **_**crit and don't need ego-boosts, so being straight-up with me about what you do and don't like is perfectly fine, but please try and be a tiny bit gentle with your word choice. I'm still kind of sensitive, and a completely negative review will throw me off for a bit.**

**Over, out, and may the odds be ever in your favor,**

**-SetFires (Vixen) **


	2. District 1- We Are Thorns Among Roses

**Thames Venturi (18)**

_"The full moon is calling, the fever is high_

_The howling wind whispers and moans_

_Well you got your demons and you got your desires_

_Well, I got a few of my own…"_

_~One of These Nights (Eagles)_

"Oh _god_," Valiance gags, recoiling as Bastion doubles over and empties the contents of his stomach on the pavement outside the casino. "Bas, _yuck._"

"I'm surprised you aren't used to it by now," I slur. The taste of alcohol is familiar in my mouth, but the pleasant buzz I had been maintaining for most of the night has begun to slide into drowsiness.

"I am," Val cringes. "But that doesn't mean I have to like watching it."

"Fair," I mutter. "Just like you." The word-play is bad, but Bastion laughs, and I scowl at him. Said laugh ricochets around in my skull for a moment, bouncing off brain and bleached bone- I'm convinced even my damn bones are becoming paler too if the distressingly increasing splotches of discoloration on my face is any indicator- before finally residing and lumping itself into the general pounding in the back of my skull. "Shut the hell up," I mutter at my drunk friend. He only laughs some more and I clutch at my hair, cradling my face between my hands. "Owww," I complain. "Bastion!" Val just rolls her eyes at us both.

"Why am I even friends with you?" she mutters under her breath.

I poke my tongue out. "Because you love us." Val promptly sticks her finger down her throat and gags again. Valiance likes girls. And any unwanted male advances do _not_ end well. The slim red-headed vixen sure knows how to pack one hell of a roundhouse kick.

"Oh, be quiet," she grumbles. "We need to get food in you. Also, that magical cure you make that takes care of hangovers. Bas can't-" she cuts herself off quickly. But Bastion had already heard, and that unfinished comment sobers him up faster than any magical hangover cure anyone can speak of. Bastion cares a lot about his family. And if he comes home drunk, he's terrified of how his family will react. Bastion, who laughs in the face of danger and faces the world with a cocky grin and a challenge gleaming in his eyes. That alone spoke a lot about him, and my perception of him had changed significantly when he'd first told me about his fear. As a result, he usually crashes at my place after we'd been out drinking. My sister and parents had eventually stopped asking questions, content to ignore me and pretend I wasn't even there.

"I'm sorry, Bas," Val whispers quietly. "I didn't mean to open that up again."

"It's alright." Bastion says resolutely, although his eyes make it clear that it's obviously not alright at all. "Come on, let's go change and get something to eat. After all, the Reapings are today. And even though none of us are going in, we still need to look nice." I try to hide my wince. I haven't told them yet. About my plan. About my plan that basically means suicide. At Val's concerned look, I'm almost tempted to tell her. Almost. But I swallow the words- dear god, what would I even say? _Oh, by the way, I'm going to Volunteer and go to my certain death, pray for me?_ I think not!- and give them both a flirtatious smile.

"Shall we, then?" I ask sweetly, and link one arm through Bastion's, the other through Val's, and guide them both down the street.

o0o

**Halliday Frost (18)**

_"And it kills me to know that you've found_

_Somebody to love, somebody to love_

_Tell me how can I go on without_

_Somebody to love, somebody to love, somebody to love?"_

_~Somebody to Love (OneRepublic)_

Crossing my arms, I lean against the wall that surrounds the trickling fountain at my back. "Calm down," I mutter. "You're yelling loud enough that the miners all the way in District 12 can probably hear you."

Panya mirrors my pose, folding her own arms and leveling me with a flat look. "Halliday, this might be the last time any of us see you alive and in person! Of course I'm not _calm_!"

"She's right," Maximus interjects, and the withering retort rising on my tongue instantly sinks back. "Halliday, you've gotta look at it from our perspective."

"From where I'm seeing it, it looks to me like you're talking to the next Victor of District 1." I sullenly reply, and Maximus angles his head, mouth quirking at the corners.

"And I don't doubt that. But I don't want you to remember us by our worries and dismal outlooks on life."

"My outlook on life is pretty dismal right the fuck now," Panya counters, flinging an arm towards me. "She could be dead in the next month and all you've said is 'oh, let's not be all worried about this or anything'!"

"To be fair," Maximus protests, "I have also said that she should try and see it from our positions and that we'd miss her terribly if she wasn't here, so we are simply expressing our concerns!"

I frown. "You know, 'she' is right here, thank you very much."

Maximus ducks his head, dark hair sliding over his brow. "Sorry, Halliday."

"What if you were in my situation?" I press. "You know you very well could be if it weren't for your ankle!" He very well could have been, if he hadn't been severely hurt in a sparring session against another one of the boys.

"That would put you where I am right now, though, wouldn't it?" Maximus asks, laughter shining in his dark eyes as he meets my gaze. "So we're back to my original point. Just imagine a life without Halliday Frost!" he declares dramatically, placing a hand to his forehead and mocking a faint. "It would be horrible!"

"Stop that," Panya protests half-heartedly, but even she's smiling. "A life without Halliday really would be terrible!"

_How so?_ I wonder briefly. _How would losing me affect them on a base level? Sure, it probably would hurt them a bit, but surely it's nothing they couldn't recover from?_ That's the thing- everyone talks about death like some fatality and something that is terrible and horrible and can never be undone. And I get parts of that, don't think that I don't. But it's simply the way of life. All living things must die, just some have bigger impacts on their surroundings. It's like a stone thrown into a still pond- depending on the size of the stone, the ripples vary in intensity. I wonder how much of a splash my stone would cause when thrown. And that sparks another thought- darker and a whole lot more _real_ than my occasional death metaphor. So I can't help but wonder: how _soon_ will my stone be thrown?

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18)**

"Damn," Valiance whistles through her teeth. "You clean up well, Thames." I glance down at myself. Crisp white shirt, acid bleached jeans, supple black combat boots. I tilt my head and bat my eyelashes at her, hair falling into my eyes, summoning up a sultry smile.

"I do, don't I?" In truth, I am not beautiful. The growing pale spots on my sun-kissed skin seem to stand out like a rose among thorns. Or rather, a thorn among roses. I purse my lips. I need to work harder. I slacked off yesterday. I still might have a little bit of time after we eat and before the Reaping, and I could head to the gym.

"No," Bastion tells me, wagging a finger in front of my face. "I know that look. You look perfectly fine, so don't start with all that strict diet and 'I'm not working hard enough' bullshit."

"But I don't work-" I start, and Val slams her hand over my mouth.

"Thames, listen to me," she says, steel in her tone. "You work harder than any of us. You log more hours at the Academy than Bastion and I combined. You look amazing, and if I swung that way, I woulda hit you by now. So shut up, and let's go eat."

…

I'm twitching. I know it. So do Bastion and Val. I tilt my head towards their meals. "Come _on_," I tell them, not bothering to make some bad innuendo out of the phrasing. "Eat." Bastion frowns. "Thames, this is ridiculous. You need to eat too." he gestures at the plate I have in front of me. "You don't eat anything. Ever."

"I eat!" I protest. "Just because I have different tastes doesn't mean I don't!"

"Starving yourself isn't helping anyone," Valiance points out calmly. "I know what you believe, but becoming thin as a whip doesn't qualify as beauty. It qualifies as scrawny." I raise my eyebrows. "You really think I'm scrawny?" I know I have muscle. Not bludging pounds of it, though, more of the corded variety.

"No," Bastion jumps in quickly. "It's just that you need to get some food in you. That," he says flatly, gesturing to my plate, "is not food. It is a scrap. Of... something."

"It's lobster," I mutter, and Bastion shrugs. "I don't give a flying fuck what it is. It's too small."

My eyebrows shoot up. "It is _impressively large,_ thank you very much." Val looks like she wants to bang her head on the nearest hard surface.

"Thames, you know what I'm talking about."

"No, I don't," I say sharply, and Bastion backs down.

There's an awkward pause, before Bastion breaks it, mumbling around a mouthful of bread. "So, what're doing after the Reapings?"

"Manners." Val reminds him, before stirring her soup with a meditative look on her face. "We could hang at Thames' place," she suggests. I bite my lip. _Yes_, I agree silently, _you could. I just wouldn't be there with you. _"Whaddya wanna do?" I ask instead, injecting as much light-heartedness into my tone as possible, wiggling my eyebrows. "We could-"

"No," Val interrupts, a small smile tugging at her lips.

I lower my gaze and glance up at her through my eyelashes. "But-"

"No!" she laughs, and I stick my bottom lip out and pout at her. "Vaaaal..."

"For the love of-" this time, it was her turn to be cut off. Three gongs resound through the District. "That's the Reaping bell!" she exclaims. She and Bastion jump up. "Coming, Thames?"

"It would be my pleasure," I drawl, and Val rolls her eyes before the three of us make our way towards the town square.

o0o

**Halliday Frost (18)**

"No, that's supposed to go there," Sienna protests, tugging on my hair.

"But it looks terrible there," I point out, and she frowns at me.

"Now, now," she scolds. I grit my teeth. As much as I love Sienna, she can really get on my nerves. Although a small part of my heart goes out to her, given that she was my brother's bride-to-be before he left for the Capitol and left her in the dust.

"Look, the gong is going to sound in ten minutes. I think I'll be fine." Sienna's lips thin out into a flat line, and I jump up, spin once for her in the white dress, and dart out of the room before she can say anything else. Once out of the dressing room, I let out an exasperated sigh and dart down the stairs and out the door.

As soon as I'm on the streets, I force myself to take a few deep, calming breaths. A small breeze slips by, rustling my hair as it passes, and I frown. I do wish the wind would stop blowing, it's _annoying_ and it's _cold_. I shiver slightly in the beautiful gown and spare a glance down at myself. Cut to my body, the fabric shows off quite a bit more leg than my usual outfit and is adorned with pearls, but it's something gorgeous and I won't turn this chance down. Sienna McAllister knows how to make people look enchanting, and I'll take whatever I can get. If it means Maximus will finally _notice _me, see me as a _girl_, then I'm willing to endure hours of brushes and powder.

When I reach the town square, a throng of people has already assembled, and I fight my way through the crowd in order to get to my place with the other 18-year-olds. I find a place between two other girls I've seen hovering around the Academy and turn my attention towards the front of the plaza, just in time, as our Escort comes clattering out from backstage.

"Hello, District 1!" she sings, greeted by uproarious cheers from the crowd. "Happy Hunger Games!" I fidget. My makeup itches and Platinum did my dress up so tight that I can barely even breathe.

"Ladies first!" chirps our escort. I hate her already. She has one of those bubbly, carefree personalities like she thinks the Hunger Games are nothing more than a fun pastime for a week or two. She makes a big show of mixing up slips of paper in the Reaping bowl and takes out a slip of paper. Unfolding it, she reads out in a crisp, clear voice, "Rhine Venturi!" Before anything can progress any farther, I put my chin up, square my shoulders, and call out, "I Volunteer!" The crowd goes wild. I know I'm popular among the District and my peers. Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I fix a blank, emotionless mask over my features and stride for the stage. I don't bother with the stairs. I just vault up onto the platform. Fixing my eyes on a set point over the horizon, I allow myself a single glance at Ariel. She grins at me, and I give her a barely imperceptible nod. Our Escort- Angela Silik- teeters over to the bowl on the opposite side of the stage. Her mountain of cotton candy hair sways with each step, and I'm almost tempted to reach out and yank the ridiculous wig clean off. She reaches into the ball and swirls her fingers around, before drawing out another slip of paper. "Storm Sc-" she begins, before a strong voice rings out over the crowd.

"I Volunteer as tribute!"

A boy about my own age steps out of the mass of people. Pale blonde, wavy hair falls into stunning hazel eyes, and his well-muscled figure weaves its way nimbly through the crowd. He steps confidently up onto the stage, and he introduces himself as Thames Venturi. His name sounds vaguely familiar, but I shove the flutter of recognition to the back of my mind. Now is not the time for thoughts like these. We shake hands, and I get a good, up-close look at him. And then it hits me. He has vitiligo. It isn't very noticeable, but it's there. But it isn't something that takes away from his overall beauty. If anything, it enhances it. The sparse sections of paleness on his face remind me of some ancient tribal mask. But before I can say anything, Angela flings our still clasped hands up into the air and crows, "I give you your tributes of the 26th Hunger Games: Halliday Frost and Thames Venturi of District 1!"

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18)**

My heart throbs in my chest as I call out those four words. "I Volunteer as tribute!" I don't risk a glance over at Val or Bastion, or I might fall apart right there. And that would be embarrassing. Really embarrassing. So instead, I hold my head high and saunter towards the stage. The girl- I think her name is Halliday- is looking at me now, her face devoid of all feeling. I grin at her and wink, before turning to face Angela. "Thames Venturi," I say, lilting my voice and tilting my head to the side. Halliday is studying me- studying my face. And the wave of self-loathing hits me like an avalanche. Our District is about luxury. About beauty. Not about… about people like me. People with scars and too-pale splotches all over their skin. Revolting. Ugly. _Monster_. Something like disgust seems to spark in her eyes, the first crack in that pitiless mask of hers. Desperately, I call up every ounce of charm and beauty, of laughter and wit, and toss my head. _I can do this._ _I can be strong. _I follow up my shooting her a sultry smile before holding out my hand. I bite my lip as she shakes it, glance up at her from beneath lowered lashes. _Shake it off, Thames. Let it roll off you. Fucking _deal _with it. _Angela introduces us to the crowd, and the thunder of their applause follows me as we retreat into the Justice Building. From there, we're led to different rooms. I sprawl out among the velvety cushions, content to do nothing more than lay there for a while. _Pull yourself together, Venturi!_ I scold myself. _You Volunteered for a reason. To prove yourself. To see what you are truly made of. Get it together!_ Shaking my head, I recline against the plush sofa, forcing a smile onto my face. I have to think about something else. Something that's _not me. _I cast my mind back, and the first thing I land on is my District partner. I'm glad that Halliday girl Volunteered. I'm almost positive that she's one of the rare few the Academy chooses. But what I would have given to see the look on Rhine's face as she stood on that stage... the spoiled brat knows nothing of weapons or trial or hardship. All she knows is silk and kind words and the clink of coins. She always will. My parents adore her too much to allow her to be subjected to the Games. Me, on the other hand... well. I'm a whole different mess. _Laugh this time, Thames_, a small voice warns in the back of my head. _Laugh, or else you're going to cry._

When the door finally opens, I leap to my feet, expecting my mom and dad to come through. Expect to see Rhine, in all her frilly dresses and expensive jewelry. But instead, Bastion walks into the room, hands clenched into fists, face a portrait of betrayed fury. "How could you?" he roars, slamming his hands into the wall on either side of my head. "This was your last year, Thames, your last god-damn year!"

I shrug. "Bas, you know I needed to do it."

"You didn't need to do anything!" he screams in my face, teeth gritted and breath hot against my cheek. "You could have stayed, Thames, stayed and lived out the rest of your life in peace and luxury! You could've helped Val get over her fear of coming out, you could've stayed and helped me with my drinking problem! But no, you had to go and Volunteer for the Games, where you might die!" he blows out a ragged breath. "You might die," he repeats, softer this time.

"I know," I answer. I'm afraid that if I say anything else I'll break down, and I can't do that. Not here. Not now. Not ever. Bastion only shakes his head and pulls me in for a tight hug. "Come back alive, Thames,' he whispers into my hair. "Don't die." I smother my grin against his shoulder.

"Not for anything in Panem."

Valiance comes in next. She doesn't storm in like Bas did, doesn't yell or scream or demand how I could've betrayed her. Instead, she pulls me in for a one-armed hug, her other hand fiddling at my ear. When she pulls back, my cross earring lies in her palm. Reaching up, I feel out the silver hoop, adjusting to the extra weight it puts on my ear. "Wear it as your token," Valiance tells me. "Wear it, and remember us." She holds out my other earring. I shake my head.

"Keep it," I tell her, closing her fingers around the cross. "As something to remember me by." She only nods, unshed tears bright in her eyes as she smiles.

"Thank you, Thames. This means… a lot." I grin back at her.

"The pleasure was mine." And then she's gone. Whisked out the door by a Peacekeeper, who gestures for me to follow. There are no more visitors. At first, I'm disappointed that I didn't get to see my family one last time. But somewhere deep inside, I know that Bas and Val were the only two whom I really needed to see. My real family. Squaring my shoulders, I step out the door. The Games begin now. My Games begin now. My name is Thames Venturi, and these Hunger Games will be mine.

o0o

**Halliday Frost (18)**

Hansel Frost bursts into the visiting room in a flurry of distressed blonde hair and guilty blue eyes, reaching out to me as soon as he gets the chance. "Halliday!" he cries, the anguish clear in every movement as he grasps my hands in his. "My little sparrow, what have I missed?" _Only me growing up from that little fledgling you knew seven years ago, _I almost retort, but bite my tongue at the last minute. It won't do if the last my dad sees- and hears- of me before I am sent off to kill people is my attitude. But, at the same time, he needs to know what I've been going through. What has been happening to me while he has been so engrossed in his business and other issues. Who I have become, without a father there to nurture his growing daughter.

"I needed to do this, dad," I answer instead, looking him straight in the eye and holding fast. Staying strong. "I needed you to notice me." At the small spark of protest in his gaze, I add, "And after seven years of being neglected, what can a girl do?"

The tears building in my father's eyes are almost comical, and I'm tempted to laugh. If this is what it takes for me to get his attention, then I wonder what my mother did in order to get him to marry her. A true spectacle, I assume. Something really outrageous. He opens his mouth, probably about to say something about how he wishes he could take it all back, what he would give to turn back time, but I don't want to hear it.

"So now that I have your attention," I continue, raising a shoulder in a one-armed shrug. "I'm going to win."

…

The next two people who visit me step in together and my heart stops dead in my chest. Maximus looks as handsome as ever, his dark hair curling around his shoulders, the perfectly tailored suit he'd worn for the Reaping hugging his muscled body. Panya's face is streaked with tears, and still more are leaking out of her eyes, trickling down her face and onto her dress. She hurries over to me and reaches up to place a soft kiss on the cheek, brown eyes sad and swimming in silver as she steps back.

"I'll miss you, Halliday," she says, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth and casting her gaze downwards. "Every day."

My response is caught by the lump in my throat that forms instantaneously as Maximus steps forward, something glinting in his hand. An obscene spark of hope lights in my chest for a single heartbeat, snuffed out just as quickly when I realize he's holding a hairpin. The diamonds and sapphires catch the low lamplight and wink at me, seeming to offer what comfort they can as his words hit me like a slap across the face. "Halliday, your friendship is one of the greatest things that's ever happened to me. I honestly enjoy your company and enjoy being your friend, but that's the only thing we can ever be." The breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding wooshes out of me, and a nauseous feeling begins to roil in the pit of my stomach. "I'm not in love with you, Halliday. I'm not in love with you and I never will be. It's not something I can control, it's the way I was born, and you need to accept that. You need to move on."

The world stops spinning. My chest feels like someone's ripped it open and dumped its contents out, spilling aquamarine and diamonds and sapphires onto the plush carpet beneath me. I can hear Maximus still speaking somewhere in front of me but I can't make out any of the words, like I'm listening with water in my ears. All I can really hear is the beat of my newly shattered heart. The room blurs around me for a moment, and when it comes back into focus the first thing my eyes catch on is the trailing hem of my Reaping dress. The dress made for a bride who waited for a groom who would never return. A dress made for a girl who had so many dreams of splendor and love that had been crushed beneath an expensive, polished shoe without so much as a second thought. A dress once worn by a shunned bride and now worn by a rejected girl who was going to her possible death. Time stills. My lips form words, but I'm no longer sure if they're heard or if the rising scream is simply in my own head, contained within the locked cage that has become my mind. Become _me_. I push air hard out of my lungs and my mouth shapes words of betrayal and loss and heartbreak.

_Don't do this._

_How could you. _

_How dare you._

o0o

**A/N: Thank you for reading! What did you think of Thames and Halliday? District 1 is always fun to write, although it also depends on the characters, and I was lucky enough to get a wonderful cast full of intriguing people! Thanks to thorne98 and Paradigm Of Writing for submitting, and I hope you all have a lovely day/night! Given that I am starting over with Sponsor Points, I am starting trivia now! First person to answer correctly earns 10 points towards the Arena!**

**Trivia: **_**Who was the Victor of the 25th Annual Hunger Games?**_

**Over, out, and may the odds be ever in your favor,**

**-SetFires (Vixen) **


	3. District 2- We Were Born King and Queen

**Athena Shier (18)**

_"I'm steppin' into fate_

_There is no time to waste_

_I've got that lightnin' inside me_

_This is how legends are made…"_

_~Legends Are Made (Sam Tinnesz_)

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk_. I spin, throwing the knives in quick succession, overhead, overhead, sideways. Two sink hilt-deep into the target, while the other slams off it hilt first. Bloom taught me that you could knock an opponent out that way, and it's a useful skill to have. Bending down, I grab two more knives from the pile at my feet and chuck them at the group of rings as well, making sure to keep low to the ground.

"Well done, Athena," a quiet voice praises from the sidelines, and I turn to find my sister, Bloom, leaning against the far wall, bow in hand, and a quiver slung across her back. "Come on. We're fine-tuning your strongest points today." Today. My last day in District 2 before I'm whisked off to the Capitol. "There's something I want you to try." Bloom continues. I raise my eyebrows. Bloom is the Victor of the 23rd Hunger Games, and she has more than a few tricks up her sleeve with that bow of hers. But I can do better. I know I can. Because that's the whole reason I'm Volunteering today. To prove that I can be as good as her, if not better.

"What do you want me to do, Bloom?" I ask cautiously. Bloom's ideas, sometimes… aren't that safe. Or sane, for that matter. One whole wall of her basement is dedicated to fire. I mean, highly dangerous chemicals that would make even the bravest man twitch. She lives in the Victor's Village, of course, and even though she's a mentor, that doesn't mean that she can't hang out back here too. Bloom only winks at me. She takes me to the shooting area of the Center, and I frown as she grabs several daggers from another station as we pass. "You know how to shoot a moving target," Bloom smiles. "Now all we need to do is see if there's any force behind it."

A dagger. She wants me to shoot a weighted dagger out of the air. "But-" I protest.

Bloom's sapphire eyes harden, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Shoot." is all she tells me. And then the knife is flying. So I raise my bow, reach back, nock an arrow, sight down the shaft, and shoot.

o0o

**Aegis Harlow (18)**

_"Oh, he's sweet but a psycho_

_A little bit psycho_

_And night he's screaming_

_I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind…"_

_~Sweet But Psycho (Ava Max)_

"Aegis!"_ Clang. _I parry Reyna's blade and duck beneath her next swipe, completely ignoring Leo's call from across the room. My whole focus is on the weapon in my hands. The next swipe directed my way drives me back a step before I manage to regain my balance and reclaim my original spot. Reyna, my personal trainer, is a very talented swordswoman. She's been training students since she was 17 because she had no interest in going into the Arena. But I have been the only student who she has agreed to personally tutor. To take under her wing and teach them everything she herself knows. I have indeed learned a lot under her guidance, and she isn't afraid to push me. Hard. But I was made to bend, not break, and when I had recovered from every grueling session, I had been stronger than ever.

"Good!" Reyna calls over the rising clash of our blades. I let myself bask in her rare praise for exactly 0.45 seconds before advancing another step. A flicker of surprise flickers across my trainer's features, which I know is her equivalent of staring at me with a dropped jaw. My tactic has always been to stay on the defensive until my opponent either tires or just gets sloppy before I attack. She recovers fast though, and then we're on even ground again.

"Aegis," Leo hollers from across the room. "The Reaping is in, like, 20 minutes. Get your ass into the shower and get yourself looking presentable!" Reyna sighs and lowers her blade.

"Leonidas is right," she concedes.

Leo pulls a face. "Don't call me that. It makes me sound old." Reyna only shrugs, before taking the sword from me as I offer it, point down and hand low on the pommel.

As I start past her on my way to the showers, she puts a hand on my shoulder. "You'll do well, Aegis." She murmurs in my ear. "You'll make our District proud."

o0o

**Athena Shier (18)**

I'm halfway to the town square with a few friends- there's me, Slate, Granite, and Thyria- before we're brought up short by a pair of boys, both attractive, one pale with dark hair, the other with an easy smile and a muscular build.

"Hey, girls," the dark-haired one grins, and Granite giggles from behind a hand. Slate just studies the boy- he's eighteen, with a heavy jaw and glittering eyes.

"What are you pretty things doing out here?" the other one asks.

Thyria raises a blonde brow. "We could ask you the same question."

"Aww," the dark-haired one chuckles. "She thinks you're pretty, Leo."

"Shut it," Leo growls playfully.

The dark-haired one smiles and holds out a hand. "Aegis Harlow," he introduces. "Future tribute of the 26th annual Hunger Games."

Slate lets out a small laugh and Granite emits an appreciative noise from the back of her throat. "Athena Shier," I answer. "These are my friends- Thyria Wild, Granite Yen, and-"

"Slate Kentwell," Aegis finishes mildly. "We've met." At this, I raise an eyebrow in her direction. Slate just smiles mysteriously and turns back to Aegis. The two boys join us as we make our meandering way to the Reaping. When we hit the square, a few Peacekeepers scowl at us, before they spot Aegis, who waves and gives them a cheeky grin. We separate into our respective places, and I turn just in time to see Granite grin up at Leo, before slipping him a piece of paper and giving him a flirtatious wink before melting into the crowd. She's not going to have much of a chance with him, though. Not if the way he side-eyed Aegis is any indication. Shaking my head, I watch our escort, a dark-skinned woman, go through the motions of the Reaping. Bloom is off to the side, along with Anshar Vesper- the Victor of the previous Games. He's younger then I am, I realize with a shock- he won the previous Games at the age of 15. I fidget as Heimda drones on about the history of Panem, before perking up as she drops her hand into the Reaping ball. She doesn't even touch a slip of paper before I'm calling out, "I Volunteer!" and am making my way towards the stage. If I had waited, someone else would have taken my spot. And I can't have that. This is my last year. And I, unlike others, have something to prove. I am just as good as Bloom. She is not the only Shier that can start and finish her own battles. I take the stage and wait. Bloom is shocked- if you know where to look, it's written all over her face, in the slight knit of her eyebrows, the small parting of her lips, the quick flash in her eyes. Sometimes, she's too easy. Turning my full attention back to the Reaping, I realize that Heimda has called the boy tribute's name. I smirk. Even though the Academy doesn't tell anyone who they pick for the Games, I'm almost positive it's not that Aegis boy. He barely even shows up at the Training Sessions.

"Any Volunteers?" Heimda trills and a crisp, clear voice calls out through the hubbub and clamor, "I Volunteer as tribute!"

And there he is. Parting the crowd like the knife through soft butter as he makes his way towards the stage. Just as he said. Aegis Harlow.

o0o

**Aegis Harlow (18)**

I can hear the crowd chanting my name as I mount the stage with long, measured strides. _Ae-gis, Ae-gis, Ae-gis!_ Our Escort, Heimda throws our joined hands in the air, and that beat rushes through me. Athena's name is being sung in chorus by the girls as well, exalting in the two tributes who they are sure to make it to the finals of the 26th annual Hunger Games. Slate is grinning at me, her grey eyes bright, and Leo gives me a huge thumbs up as my gaze passes over him. Gladius and Scipio are clapping and Attila is wearing a proud smile on her face. The sound of their cheering and the image of my mother's smile carries me on wings back to the Justice Building, where Athena and I part ways and are ushered into two separate rooms.

My family comes to visit me, of course. Attila comes in first. My mother is out of her uniform and has let her dark hair down, and it cascades over her shoulders and down her back like a wave of midnight. She sits down on the couch next to me and just stares at me for a moment. I hold her gaze steadily, until she finally says, "You need to make the Capitol like you. Gain Sponsors."

"Be likable," I echo. "Got it."

"Smile," she tells me. "Act like you're not about to go into a death trap. Compliment them. Stroke their ego."

I bob my head in confirmation that these instructions have been registered and will be followed.

"And be respectable for Heimda. She knows what she's doing." With that, Attila rises, smooth and elegant and poised. Turning away. Turning away like she always has. I understand- it's part of her job- but some warmth would be nice. Just every now and then. Some _fucking_ recognition, if only for the weapon she's designed me to be.

Swallowing around the sudden lump in my throat, I get out, "Mom?"

Attila doesn't turn from where she stands in the doorway. But I can see her shoulders relax a little- see some of the tension bleed out of them. "Yes?"

"I love you."

My mother blows out a long, slow breath. She looks back over a shoulder, brown eyes surprisingly soft. "I love you too, son."

o0o

**Athena Shier (18)**

The second the door to my visiting room opens, Jason lands on top of me as he flies in through the entranceway, proclaiming, "You're the best sister _ever_." I raise my eyebrows as my parents walk in behind him, before gently disentangling myself and sitting down in a chair near the window. "We know you'll come home," smiles my mom. My dad says something about him being so proud of me, that he knows I'm destined to follow in Bloom's footsteps, but it all flies by me. I'm already thinking. Going over the same three questions for the umpteenth time. How do I come across as a tribute? How do I act around others? How do I interact with Bloom?

"Stop," a different voice sighs from across the room. "I can hear you thinking from over here." I snap back into myself with a jolt, to find my family gone, and Harmony standing in their place. She's twitching, which is so strange for Harmony. Yes, she's energetic and rebellious and bouncing off walls. But everything she does is with purpose. Not this absentminded jiggling of her leg, the twisting of a silver ring around a finger. She catches my glance and looks down. Tugging off the circlet, she holds out her hand for my own, and I wordlessly give it to her. "You have to come home to me."

"I know," I promise. "I will."

Harmony only opens her mouth before slowly closing it again. "You're like a sister to me, Ath," she chokes out at last. "I can't lose you."

I stand up and quickly pull her into a tight embrace. "You won't lose me," I promise. "I'll come back, Harmony. I won't leave you."

She chokes on another sob, nodding fast, before turning and almost booking it from the room. Alone among velvet and silk and soft cushioning, I glance down at Harmony's silver ring on my finger. You have to come back to me, she had said. And I promised her I would. Giving the door a grim smile, I slowly walk over and grab the handle. When I turn it and step outside, I will be officially the female District 2 tribute of the 26th annual Hunger Games. _Am I ready for this? _The answer is simple. I've been ready my whole life. _Happy Hunger Games,_ I think to myself as my hand presses down. _May the odds be ever in my favor._

o0o

**Aegis Harlow (18)**

My head is still reeling from that last I love you when Scipio, my father, walks in. His short golden hair catches the light as he drops down next to me. "I'm proud of you, son." he rumbles.

Ducking my head, I hide a smile and say, "Thanks, dad."

"Now remember," Scipio starts, and I inwardly flinch. Always business, business, business. As outgoing as my father might be, he, like my mom, is always getting down to god-damn _business_. "You want to make an honest alliance." I open my mouth, but he cuts me off. "Even if you start out with the Careers. Find two or three tributes who you honestly want around. Make friends. When you split, join with them."

"Yes, father."

Scipio's arm goes around me and suddenly he's hugging me. "Be safe, son," he says into my hair. When he steps back, he beams at me. "You'll make us proud." _Oh, if only you knew. If only you knew what lies beneath the surface. If I told you, could you help me? Could you help me tame this wild beast that has its claws dug into my heart?_

Instead, I settle for managing a grin around the gravel rock in my throat. "I love you, dad."

"Love you too, Aegis."

As he too turns to leave, I open my mouth to call him back. To tell him not to worry, that I'll be okay. That I do love him. I haven't told him that enough. Not even close. But when my voice finally decides to work, all that comes out is, "I won't let you down, dad. Promise." _But you will, you will, you will, and then everyone will see the monster you've become._

Gladius bounds into the room soon after our father is left, and leaps at me, hanging on like a little monkey. His golden hair, stark against my black, is ruffled from the wind, and I can't help mussing it up a bit more. He complains into my chest and I laugh, and the shadows shying away from the light that is my baby brother.

"Kick ass, okay?" Gladius tells me as he pulls back. "I'll be rooting for you." I grin down at him.

"Anything for my baby bro."

He huffs. "I told you not to call me that."

I shrug. "Told me so, shmold me so. Don't give a damn. You're still my baby brother." _You're still my baby brother, and God be willing, you will never be me._

Gladius laughs and shoves at me, and saunters back towards the door. "Catch you later, big brother." And then he's gone too.

Leo's next, and he pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. "Nice going, man!" he cheers as he pulls away. "They're screaming your name already. A shame that the Shier girl is in the Arena, though. She's cute." I consider. Athena is indeed pretty- small nose, attentive hazel eyes, slim build. And yet…

"Yeah, sure," I agree easily. "But she's not really my type."

Leo's eyebrows hit his hairline. "Dude, you know I've watched you hook up with a chick, right?"

My jaw drops. "Leo, what the hell-" _Don't look at me like that, stop, please stop-_

"No, no!" Leo waves his hands in front of him, desperately trying to backtrack. "I mean, I've seen the girls you take home. I saw the way you looked at Slate. Athena- she's totally your type."

Sure, she is. Small, pretty, aware of what's going on and not oblivious. But there's something off about her. Something deep in those hazel eyes- so unlike the dark, dark brown ones I'm staring into- that tells me to run. "So what? She's going into the Arena. She's going to be dead in a matter of weeks. I don't need to get attached."

Leo shrugs. "Your choice, man. You choose your type. Either way, once you get back, girls'll be throwing themselves at you right, left, and center. You'll get your pick. Got your eye on anyone already? How about that Slate girl?"

"No, not really," I answer quickly, but Leo already has a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. "I- I figure I'll just roll with it until I can get myself pulled back together." _Real smooth, there Aegis. Real smooth._

"Bull-fucking-shit!" Leo calls happily. "You have a crush on Slate and are pining for her like a little bitch."

_Oh, dear God. _"Leo," I hiss, face flushing. Then I regain my composure and frown. "And I am very confident in my masculinity, thanks."

Leo rolls his eyes. "Suuure. Whatever. Can I be the best man when you get married?"

I whack him over the head with a pillow.

Leo squawks indignantly and flings up his arms, covering his head. "Fine!" he yelps. "Fine! But can I be the godfather of your first kid?" He sees me reaching for another pillow to hit him with and grabs my hand frantically. "Okay, okay. You'll date first. Roses and sweet kisses and you taking her out to dinner and all that. Slow. Maybe for a year or two, and then with all that richass Victor shit you can take her to District 4 and romantically propose to her on the beach. More importantly-" _Stop, stop, it's not going to be Athena, it's never _going_ to be Athena-_

"No kids until I'm 20." I insist. "At least."

"Your loss," Leo grins. "You'll invite me over to your house in the Village when you come home, right? After you win?" The words clang through me. _Win_. _Win, win, win._ Come home. The odds are not in my favor. I know how the Games work. Twenty-four go in, one comes out.

"I might not," I say quietly. Leo's face goes from cheerful and light-hearted to sad and serious in the span of three heartbeats.

"Oh yeah," he says quietly. "About that." _Don't you dare, Leonidas Cobalt, don't you fucking dare bring this up on the last day I might have to see you. _"I have something to give you. Reaching up, he unclasps the silver snake necklace from around his neck. Its emerald eye glints at me as he reaches around my neck. The weight of it soon thuds against my chest, and Leo manages to give me a shaky grin. "Now you hafta come back," he whispers, breath hot against my cheek as he slides closer, straight into my personal space. His next words are whispered into the token of space between our mouths, solid and warm and_ real_ before his lips are on mine. "Because I want my necklace back. From your living hand, Aegis. Not from your cold dead body."

o0o

**A/N: Aw, you stuck around! This time, submission credit goes to Paradigm of Writing (and dsalazz for the name and the small bits of the form) and Team Shadow for submitting Aegis and Athena! What are your thoughts on this pair? I hope you all have a lovely day/night, and, as always, feedback is welcome, provided it follows the guidelines expressed in the prologue. **

_**Trivia: Who is Aegis's personal trainer?**_

**Over, out, and may the odds be ever in your favor,**

**-SetFires (Vixen) **


	4. District 3- We Do What We Must

**Herold Lachin (12)**

_"But no one knows me, no one ever will_

_If I don't say something; If I just lie still_

_Would I be that monster, scare them all away_

_If I let them hear what I have to say"_

_~Quiet (MILCK)_

_And… done! _I shove my chair back from my desk, push my glasses up my nose, and smile triumphantly.

"Mom!" I call, clattering down the rickety stairs to our one-room apartment. "I finished my homework!" My mother, Helen, with her warm brown eyes and always smelling of chocolate chip cookies, comes bustling in through the door.

"That's wonderful, Harold," she says cheerfully. "I'm glad you got it done. And just in time too, the Reaping starts in less than an hour! Go get your clothes on!"

I nod eagerly. The Reaping has been something we've been talking about in my Studies of Panem (SOP, as the older kids like to call it), and I'm excited to finally get to experience it firsthand. Since I am only 12 years old, the odds are very much in my favor- I shouldn't be Reaped, so I'm not terribly worried. There are so many other kids out there, and my name is only in that glass bowl 3 times, and some children have their names in there 32 times or more. So before next year when my chances steadily begin climbing, I plan to observe this moment for as long as I can and get a real feel for it. I've always had an affinity for writing, all my teachers say that I have talent with words, but it's always easier to write what you know, and I want to experience all that I can. The chances of my getting Reaped this year are barely non-existent- but that doesn't mean they don't exist. I can't assume anything. Nothing is for sure, especially in this violent world we live in today. Nothing can- or should- be taken for granted. The Capitol has proved that, with their brutal ideas and sadistic pleasures. At that dark thought, I shudder. _How much will we have to endure to satisfy their bloodlust?_

Blowing out a slow breath, I take a moment and clear my mind, concentrating on the air flowing in and out of my lungs. I pause, one foot on the stairs, and _breathe_. These thoughts will not do me any good. I need to clear my head and let it all go. Inhaling deeply, I search my mind for all the things plaguing me- thoughts of possibly being Reaped, of what I'll wear to school tomorrow, how my mother and I will scrounge up food for our next meal- and let it all out on my next breath. My mind empties, and a slow smile tugs at my lips. That's better. With renewed vigor, I climb the rest of the stairs to my room. There, I find an ironed-out white button-up shirt and a pair of khakis lying on my bed for me. Eagerly, I shrug my way out of my ratty, thread-bare shirt and into the new clothes. These are nice- so much nicer compared to my usual dress. I shimmy into the pants and cram my feet into the leather shoes by the door and hurriedly smooth back my hair. "Coming, mom!" I yell and scramble out the door.

o0o

**Lauren Silver (18)**

_"I try to find myself_

_I find the stranger trapped inside_

_And I take one more step away_

_From a face I used to recognize…"_

_~ Break Me Down (RED)_

"That's not the way that works, Wyre," I chuckle, watching my younger brother attempt to connect two negative sides of a magnet. He's trying so hard, but the two pieces are propelled away from each other every time he tries to put them together. "Let me show you." Gently, I take one magnet out of his small hands and flip it over. "Now try it." Wyre shoves the two magnets toward each other and they come together with a resounding clack! Letting out a squeal of delight, he claps his hands, a huge smile taking over his young face. My other brother, Wyatt, who's 14, comes wandering in, bagel in hand and his mouth stuffed full.

"Good job, Wyre!" he congratulates, although with his mouthful it sounds more like, 'Smood hob, 'yre'.

"Wyatt!" I scold playfully. "Don't talk with your mouth full!"

Swallowing, Wyatt tosses one of his trademark smiles at me, a flash of pearl and rosy pink as he heads for his younger brother. "Mouth full, smouth full, Lauren."

Rolling my eyes affectionately, I take another bite of the porridge-like substance in my bowl. I love my brothers dearly, but sometimes they can really grate on one's nerves. "Don't sass at me, Wyatt," I tease back, and his smile grows even wider.

"Yes, mom," he drawls. "Whatever you say…"

A laugh breaks free from my throat and I lean over to give him a light-hearted punch on the shoulder. "If I'm the mom now, I'm telling you to go clean your room!"

Wyatt blinks owlishly at me before chuckling and placing a hand on his forehead in mock despair. "Oh, mother, no! How could you torture me so? The _pain!"_

Wyre, having finally figured out how his magnets worked, gleefully clapped his hands and yanked them apart again. He turns his face up to me, light shining in his eyes, a happy burble bursting from his mouth. A rush of protective love surges through me as I look down at my baby brother. Wonder what he will become in a few years when he is eligible for the Reapings and exposed to the treachery of this blood-drenched place. My heart skips a beat at the thought of my brother- either one of them, for that matter- being forced into the Games, to fight to the death. I don't ever want to watch that joyous light fade from Wyre's eyes or see that brilliant flash of Wyatt's smile without knowing it would be the last one that ever spread across his face. And if our God was truly looking down on me, I wouldn't have to.

Closing my eyes briefly against the sudden onslaught of dark thoughts, I force myself to finish my oatmeal before going to place my bowl in the sink. "I'm going to go hang out with Kay and Tes for a while before the Reaping!" I call over my shoulder. My mother, from somewhere deep in the recesses of our house, responds with the customary, 'Alright, make good choices!' and I promise her that I will, before heading out the door.

o0o

**Herold Lachin (12)**

The Escort's voice is mellow- soft, even, as I stand by the stage, looking up at him. His silver hair is long enough to fall into his face as he talks, but he makes no move to clear his vision. He exchanges pleasantries with the mayor swiftly and coolly but wastes no time in his customary speech. He speaks quietly, but with an air of confidence and authority that some of the other Escorts don't seem to have. His ability to control the crowd is so much better than the others, and when he talks, it's almost as if I can forget the formal words that speak of darkness and payment and righteousness falling from his lips and lose myself in the cadence of his tone. For a little while, I do, and let myself float on a blissful cloud of unawareness. But it ends all too soon, and it seems like only a second of dreaming before his hand is dipping into the big glass ball that holds the slips of paper for the boys. A jarring wake-up call. The rustling of paper is louder than thunder in the square, no one daring to speak. No one daring to even breathe. For some odd reason, the boys have always gone first, and whether it be a small act of rebellion or just a quirk of our Escort's, we never know. None of us those who might have thought to ask have lived to share the answer. The two exceptions to that statement are sitting in chairs on either side of the stage- Jolt Haas and Binary Evans- looking tired and grim. Binary's golden eyes are dull, and Jolt's grey hair- not the same, lustrous silver as Stryriel's- seems to be getting thinner by the year. How trying must it be, I wonder, to watch those you have taught die year after year? To fail time and time again, when all you want is to succeed and save a life? Granted, there are 23 other tributes, 6 of which have been trained and some are in better shape than the tributes we produce, but still… we have gone too many years without a Victor. Maybe this will be District 3's year to shine. _Not likely_. A poisonous voice hisses in the back of my head. _You've seen all the other children. Weak. Sickly. Too skinny, too small. Easy targets_. I bite my lip. _We need a Victor though. We need to have some _hope. _We can't give up now! _The voice- sweet as honey-drenched steel- starts to reply, but is thankfully interrupted by the voice of our Escort.

"And now, please join me in welcoming our male tribute for this year's Hunger Games!" Stryriel calls, silver eyes somber even as the crowd gives up their token applause. "Herold Lachin!"

What? No. No, that can't be right. My name has only been put in that bowl 3 times. 3 slips, out of hundreds. Maybe thousands. I did the math, the odds were in my favor! I couldn't have miscalculated. I'm good at math. Everyone says so. I'm good and everything. Everything but luck, apparently. Only, this can't be happening. It… can't. But there Stryriel is, my name leaving his lips a second time as he searches the crowd.

"Herold Lachin?"

I still can't move. Can't breathe, as Stryriel's tone softens, and he says, "Come on up, Herold. I don't bite."

Slowly, painfully, I force myself to move. One foot in front of the other. One step at a time. Keep going. Breathe in and out. Inhale and exhale. I repeat this mantra step after step. _Breathe in and out. Inhale and exhale. _ As I emerge from the crowd, Stryriel actually steps down from the stage. _Breathe in and out. Inhale and exhale. Drink. Rinse. Repeat. _He walks towards me and gently places a soothing hand on my back, guiding me up to the stairs. He matches me step for step as we make our way back to center stage.

"There's a good boy," he says quietly. "I'll be back in just a moment, alright?" And then he's gone, his warmth an instantly missed presence at my side, off to call out the girl's name. The name of my District partner.

"Lauren Sparks!"

o0o

**Lauren Silver (18)**

Herold Lachin. The young boy up on stage is trembling, visible shudders that racked his body, having nothing to do with the chill breeze that whispers through the square. Tessa makes an odd cooing noise in the back of her throat and I can't help but agree with her. Tessa has always had a strong maternal instinct, and I'm glad Stryriel was there to help Herold up on stage. I'm not sure the poor thing could have done it without him. Our silver-haired Escort whispers something in his ear, before darting over to the girl's bowl to fetch a slip of paper.

"Lauren Silver!"

Beside me, Kayla lets out a small gasp, and Tessa wraps a protective arm around my shoulders. "It's alright, Tes," I manage to get out. "Let me go. I need to look strong." Tessa just looks at me for a long moment, her eyes saying everything her voice can't, and the distant memory of her wrapping me up in a comforting hug becomes the immediate present. _You can't always be strong, Lauren. It's okay to let go. _

"Tessa," I grit out. "Let me go."

She shakes her head fiercely, lips pressed into a tight line. Her gaze steadily bores into me. _Let me help you,_ those grey orbs say. _Let me be here for you, let me guide you, as your voice has guided me. _My mute friend slowly unwraps her arm from around me, but instead of dropping it to her side as I expect it to, she steps into the isle made for us, offering it to me. A steady anchor in the swirling anchor my world is about to become. A guide through the dark. _It's better to walk with a friend in the dark, _I remember, _then running alone in the light. _

So I reach out and grip her slender hand, curling my fingers around her own, clad in peach-colored gloves that remind me of springtime and lush green grass. I focus my eyes on Herold as I steadily stride towards the raised platform, and a wave of sympathy rushes through me. He looks so small, standing up there, and I wonder how much self-control he's exerting not to cling to Stryriel's own hand. The man in question is standing beside my District partner, grey eyes scarily blank as he watches me approach. Something about him makes me nervous, whether it be his inhuman grave or elfin beauty I'm not sure. He reminds me of the golden-haired Escort for Ten, his silver counterpart in all sense of the word. I reach the stairs and glance back over at Tessa. Her eyes are filled with an ocean of tears and love and grateful understanding. Gently, she drops a sweet kiss to my bare knuckles and steps away, melts back into the crowd. Leaving me to ascend the steps and accept Stryriel's offered hand, briefly ducking my head. His grip is so much firmer than Tessa's, solid and reassuring where hers had been soft and trembling. I squeeze Herold's shoulder on my way past, murmuring, "Hey, don't worry." I then gently take Herold's small hand in one of mine, clasping it firmly. "You'll be okay."

"I present to you your tributes for the 26th annual Hunger Games!" Stryriel announces. But unlike other Escorts, he does not fling our joined hands into the air. Instead, he sweeps his arm out as if presenting us for a final time, and his voice is laced with something that could be called pity as he finishes. "Herold Lachin, and Lauren Silver of District 3!"

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**Herold Lachin (12)**

My cheeks are flushing hotly by the I am taken into the Justice Building, up a flight of stairs and into a room with marble floors and silken curtains. Stryriel Keeley had had to escort me to the stage, like some helpless animal that needed guidance. What a sight I must have made then, trembling like some young fawn, a newborn foul to weak to even stand on his own legs! How could I have made such a fool of myself? A disgrace, that's what I am. I have disgraced my District, and now I must win back their favor. Who would want to see me off now, wish me goodbye and good luck when I had ashamed the whole District as such earlier?

But it's my mother who walks in that door, arms open for me. I can't help but run into them. She sobs then, hugging me tight, tears wetting my hair. She hands me a small picture of my father, and I can feel tears coming to my own eyes as I see his face. His handsome face stares solemnly back up at the both of us as if he understands what's happening and I can almost imagine him there, standing next to my mother, a serious expression tugging at his brow and his lips pursed. I can almost conjure up his voice, low with concern and laced with love as he tells me to do my best and that he's proud of me. As if I'm just going off to school, on a normal day. Not- not going to my death which will be broadcasted on the big screen to all of Panem. My mother is gazing down at the photograph as well, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Like she's remembering the man she once loved so dearly and then lost 2 years later. Then she's hugging me again and crying into my shoulder. As if already mourning her child, who she already knows will never come back.

o0o

**Lauren Silver (18) **

Herold is beet red by the time we reach the Justice Building and I hold back a small smile. Despite the scene with Stryriel back at the Reaping, I'm proud of him. I can't exactly place why, but I recognize the feeling and understand it. Herold Lachin seems like someone I can get to know. Maybe we can talk on the train ride to the Capitol… the Capitol. My stomach sinks. I'm still at home, in my District, and all I can think of now is the Capitol? Gritting my teeth, I force myself back to the present. The present, where I am surrounded by luxurious cushions and velvet pillows. The present, where I have just been Reaped for the Hunger Games, where the odds are never in anyone's favor. The present, where my family and two best friends who I have known and loved my entire life are bursting into the visiting chambers, and everyone's voices are overlapping like waves crashing on the shore.

"Please come back, Lauren," my mother is begging, even as Wyatt grips my shoulder and says, "You'll do great," and Tessa is pulling me into a bone-shattering hug and crying, "I can't lose you, Lauren, I can't, I can't!"

"I know," I say. I say to all of them because that's the only thing I know how to. "I know," I repeat, this time to my mom, distraught with tears sliding down her cheeks. "I know," I tell my brother because I know my way around the world. "I know," to my best friends, because we have always, always stood by each other, never one without the other.

"I know."

"I know."

_"I know."_

o0o

**A/N: First off, if I may borrow a hashtag from Thorne's work: #EscortLivesDoMatter ;) I feel like I've been abusing mine too much, so I've tried to be a bit nicer to dear Stry. But Lauren doesn't seem to like him. Hmm. Anyways, please allow me to introduce you to the third pair of tributes: Harold Lachin, by Luthien'sLight, and Lauren Silver, by GreyWolf44! Short chapter (at least it's longer than the prologue), I know, but these two are ones that you will get to know, later on, don't worry**_**. **_**I hope you all have a lovely day/night, and I'll see you all in the update tomorrow! Two trivia questions, since I forgot to do it last chapter, ha :)**

_**Trivia: Name three different "o'clocks" of the Catching Fire arena.**_

_**Trivia 2: How many tributes died on the first day in the Arena in the 74th Hunger Games?**_

**Over, out, and may the odds be ever in your favor,**

**-SetFires (Vixen) **


	5. District 4- We're Just Savages

**Intro A/N: Look, hey! Vixen is starting a chapter instead of talking at the end of one! (Don't worry, I'll talk more at the end!) Anyways, this chapter is a bit different than the others. It is told from the perspective of District 4 Victor, Coral Skyglaze, requested to be in this story by Hairy_Potato on Fictionpad. I thought that it would be nice to write and deviate from the other, more traditional format of a Reaping chapter and try one of these. I think it turned out pretty well, and I hope you do too! Also, the visiting scenes in both tribute forms were either not there entirely or no one visited the tribute, so I figured, why not do this with District 4? Now, without further ado, please enjoy this next chapter, **_**We're Just Savages**_**. (Title from Marina and the Diamonds song **_**Savages)**_

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**Coral Skyglaze (32, Victor of the 11th Hunger Games)**

_"Another day, another bit of rape_

_Another ticking bomb to bury deep and detonate_

_I'm not the only one who finds it hard to understand_

_I'm not afraid of God, I am afraid of man…"_

_~Savages (MARINA)_

For all the time I'd spent in the luxuries of the Capitol and for all the silks and velvet dresses I was constantly forced into wearing that were baby-soft against my skin when our Hovercraft touched down in the squalor of District 4, it felt like home. But the usually cluttered streets are stripped to the bone, no Peacekeeper in sight. I stand stock-still on the ramp of our Hovercraft, shocked out of my mind, trying to reconcile this barren place with the formerly controlled chaos of the outskirts of 4- orphans and gangs running around, the scuffle of rodents and other small critters in the sewers and the calls of vendors and stall owners. From somewhere far off, I hear the roar of the crowd and grit my teeth against the sudden memories.

_"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Victor of the 11th Hunger Games! I give you the tribute of District 4, Coral Skyglaze!" The roar of another crowd surrounds me from speakers all over the Arena. A sea of corpses roils beneath me, the rocks beneath my cliff vantage point soaked red with the blood of my former fellow Careers and the unfortunate three other tributes in the Arena. In the distance, the howl of a lone wolf pierces the air as it is led back to its den by the Capitol. I take another glance over the cliff and promptly dry heave onto the grass, stumbling back from the precipice and squeezing my eyes shut. But even then, the image of so many lifeless bodies and dead eyes stare at me, impaled on the razor-edged rocks and some twisted and terrible, unnatural angles on the beach below. The hollow eyes of the girl from 1. The sharp, white jut of bone poking out from a pile of blood and flesh and tissue that was my best friend and ally. The spear of rock launching up through the torso of the beautiful girl of 2, her mouth still formed in a perfect O of surprise as she plummeted and the repulsive smack and squelch as she hit the pinnacle below. "Cor-al, Cor-al, Cor-al!" the crowd chants, and I shudder, taking another step forward. I should be celebrating, I should have my arms in the air and a huge smile across my face, but I can't muster the energy. "Cor-al, Cor-al, Cor-al, Cora-"_

"Coral!" I jump at the sharp voice behind me, young enough that I wonder if it's one of the street orphans, but when I turn, it's only Anshar standing there, violet eyes keen and maybe a little sad. The two-syllable beat still echos in my ears, but when Anshar tilts his head to the side as if listening, I'm not quite sure anymore.

"Do you hear that?"

I laugh bitterly. "All I hear is the crowd of the Capitol screaming my name." On anyone else, the comment might have sounded narcissistic and egotistical. On a Victor, it sounds like a cry of mourning. The double beat still resounds in my skull, but it's not my name they're chanting.

_"Mi-kail, Mi-kail, Mi-kail!"_

_'What the fuck?'_ I mouth at Anshar, who shrugs, before sticking his hands in his pockets and ambling off towards where the noise is coming from. It's only seven in the morning and we don't have to be at the Reaping for another five hours. "Why am I doing this?" I ask the sky, glaring up at the fluffy white clouds. The clouds do not answer. Figures.

The stench is what hits me first. I recoil, and so does Valkyrie Summers, the Head Gamemaker. I don't even know why she's here- something about studies for a new mutt she's introducing. Anshar just glides right on through it, seemingly unaffected. His eyes are sharp and darting every which way, aware and alert. I know the feeling- the constant thrum in your blood that tells you you're being hunted, that you are being watched. We weave between ramshackle huts and cottage weaves and buildings in shambles. The slums. Why would the whole of my District be gathered here? How could we have stooped so low? My question is answered when we break the urban line and come across a clearing. It stretches around us for as far as the eye could see, and in the dead center, a pit has been dug, barbed wire caging it in with a worn fence surrounding the whole works. In the pit itself crouch two boys, one with mussed brown hair and angry blue eyes, the other with auburn locks and light green orbs that stare right back. The latter is crouched down on the balls of his feet, hunched forward, with an intent look on his face. In the five-yard area of space between the fence and the rest of the District, nine people stand. One I recognize as the mayor, his daughter trembling beside him. Four others are the gang leaders who roam the streets- funny, I thought there were five. Every District has its street packs and there are always five, ours is no exception. The other three are Peacekeepers, dressed in their bleak white uniforms like blank masks and unreadable texts. Except these Peacekeepers have gold and coin glittering in their hands.

"20 talents the small one is unconscious in the first fifteen," one says.

"30, and I say ten." Another rebuts.

The four gang leaders are leaning together and muttering among themselves. Between soft phrases too quick too catch, I hear the words _'the eel' _repeated constantly. As we draw closer, one of the Peacekeepers spins around and pulls a pistol out of his jacket before he registers who we are. Anshar fixes him with his piercing, unnervingly intense violet stare and I watch as the Peacekeeper's face drains to an ash white color. As he opens his mouth, one of the gang leaders snorts and shoves him out of the way.

"Who are you and what brings you here?" he demands.

Anshar tilts his head to the side. "I could be asking you the same question."

The boy's chest puffs up. "I'm Salmon, leader of the Hammerheads!"

"Also a delusional idiot." Anshar tacks on passively. "To answer your first question, I am Anshar Vesper. My two friends are Coral Skyglaze and Valkyrie Summers. We mean no harm. We are simply here to watch. To observe." With that, he glides up to the fence and settles in, crossing his arms and gazing down at the two boys with an impassive expression.

Valkyrie covers her mouth with a hand off to my left, shoulders shaking with laughter as she follows Anshar to the edge of the pit. I can't help chuckling as Salmon splutters in the Victor's wake, and glance back down. The smaller, auburn-haired one is still crouched in that unnatural position, squatting on the balls of his feet, legs tucked close together beneath him. Elbows on his knees, just staring at his opponent. How he can balance in that one position for that long baffles me.

But what startles me, even more, is the boy he is facing. He must have 60-100 pounds on the other boy, and a significantly larger muscle mass, but he's flinching away from the sharp, aquamarine orbs of his opponent. Keeping his own gaze pinned to the floor. He squeaks something that sounds like, "Don't, please, don't,"

"What don't you want me to do?" The smaller boy demands. It's the first time he's spoken since we've arrived. His words are wrapped in some foreign tongue, that speaks of mountains and fast-flowing rivers, of delicate and beautiful and strong architecture, of winter skies and rose blossoms.

"That…thing you do," his opponent flounders. "You fucking psychoanalyze us, Drakil."

A flash of irritation sparks across the boy's face, gone as quickly as it appears. "My name's Mikail," he answers coolly. I stifle a small grin- he's just like Anshar when he went into his Games- snarky, quiet, under-rated and the least flashy of all the tributes, blending perfectly into the background. And like Anshar, I can sense something brewing beneath that impeccable mask of peaceful and almost hypnotizing calm.

Or maybe not so under-rated. Mikail swings suddenly around toward us, eyes focussing instantly on Valkyrie. "Hello, Miss Summers," he greets quietly. The splitting image of sophistication and politeness. "I see you have recovered well from your brother's death." Valkyrie freezes. Her brother had died not only three weeks ago, and she'd taken it hard- not as bad as most, but she still flinches away from any mention of him and tears fill her eyes at the uttering of his name. Her mouth was still open when Mikail addresses Anshar. "Anshar Vesper." he inclines his head in a gesture of respect. "Don't let the past tangle you up. He really did love you; it's what he would've wanted. Some never would have thought that two weeks was enough to fall in love," here he shrugs like he doesn't understand those who think this feat to be impossible, "but I would digress. My one warning to you is that whatever you plan to do, think it through first." A wry smile quirks at the corner of Anshar's mouth. If he's at all fazed by the reference to the green-eyed boy who so often seems to plague his every waking thought, he doesn't show it.

"Many thanks, Mikail Drakil," Anshar responds, dipping his head in a mock bow that makes the younger boy smile.

Turning his attention away from the other Victor, Mikail shrugs and his gaze finally lands on me. "Coral Skyglaze. Our Victor." A small smirk curves his mouth. "It must've felt terrible, seeing all those tributes plummet to their deaths. Your kill count has been the highest in Hunger Games history. All you had to do was step aside and let your attacker fall and perish in one of the more violent Arena-based ways we have ever seen. Do not let their deaths be in vain. Teach the tributes well." And with that, he turns back to his opponent. That voice rings out over the crowd now, silencing the mutterings of some of the townsfolk as he directly addresses the bigger boy. "Garin Oceanious. Let's see what secrets you've been hiding behind those pretty blue eyes of yours, hmm?"

…

Six and a half hours later, Valkyrie is still ranting about him. Mikail Drakil, known in some circles as 'The Eel' is a quick-witted, agile boy, with a sharp smile, an even sharper tongue, and is too clever by half. He participates in the Trials- the competitions that we had seen being hosted just a few hours ago- for money and food for his gang, the Orcas.

"How'd he know?" Valkyrie demands, slumping back in her seat. "He's not supposed to know that!"

Anshar shrugs. "Sometimes people are just that easy to read."

"So you weren't affected?" Valkyrie cocks her head to the side and studies the Victor. "At all?"

Anshar's violet eyes flash with a brief spark of rare temper. "Never say nothing affects me, Summers. It's easier for you to say. You weren't in the Games. Coral might be able to understand, but even her-"

"I don't," I interject quietly. "Yes, I can relate to some parts of what you have experienced- I do know what it's like to look someone in the eye and put a knife through their gut or a bolt through their neck, but I don't know how to do that to someone I know and actively love. Who I know I'm in love with."

Anshar lets out a low, rasping chuckle, turning his gaze skywards. "Sometimes, familiarity is enough."

My heart lurches as I recall seafoam eyes staring into mine, a deep voice pleading with me to _"Kill me, Coral, just kill me-"_ and the breathy, shattered gasp that ripped out of his throat as the dagger, our hands together on the hilt, slid home.

_Bong._

The Reaping bell tolls out over the District. The mournful calls of the seagulls harmonize with the ringing to create a melody of wonder and suspense and somber mornings.

_Bong._

The children begin to file in- I see a girl in a navy blue sleeveless dress, with a necklace of pearls around her throat. Her hair is tied back in two wind braids and a single braid down the back- exquisite yet simple. Her eyes remind me of our rushing, crashing ocean by our shores and the glitter of the evening sun off pristine waves. She walks with her head up and shoulders back, her astonishing eyes slightly puffy around the edges. I remember seeing her at the mayor's side during the Trials. She must be his daughter.

_Bong._

As the last call rings out, Finerva, one of the few real friends I've ever made out of all the Capitolites I've met- steps smoothly up to the podium. She waits patiently until the crowd settles and then her voice rolls out over the crowd like sea waves over sand. "Hello, District 4!" the crowd offers up its token applause, and a small smile crosses Finerva's mouth. "Oh, stop that." she chides. "Don't give me any of that bullshit of being excited to be here. We all know you aren't." That shocks the masses into silence. Finerva's smooth, unaccented voice and blunt demeanor make her unpopular among her peers at the Capitol, but here, between me and Anshar and the citizens of District 4, this is where she is accepted and appreciated. She doesn't smile and tell s everything's gonna be okay. She sits us down, looks us in the eye, and tells you that shit is getting real. And it's getting real fast. "We know what we're here for," Finerva drawls out, fixing her turquoise eyes on some point out over the horizon. "So I'm not going to draw this out any longer then I have too. Let's begin with the ladies, shall we?"

…

Mikail Drakil and Marina Bloyster. The two tributes I will have to train and send to almost certain death. Marina is the girl I saw as she walked into the penning area, she Volunteered for her sister. Mikail was Reaped, but instead of a reaction of sheer desperation, a little smile flitted across his face as he stepped up, and as he neared I heard him whisper, "I won the lottery!" under his breath. The Peacekeepers have begun to herd the two selected tributes towards the Justice Building and it's now time for us to take off and head to the trains. Valkyrie instructs us to go on ahead and she'll catch up, but Anshar and I find ourselves loitering on the outskirts of the station, both reluctant to leave the salt-tinted air and fresh breeze of District 4 behind.

"How did you know?" Anshar asks suddenly. I glance up from where I've been digging a hole in the rocks by our platform with the toe of my shoe. Silhouetted against the morning sun and his hair blown back by the salty whisper of wind that brushes chill fingers across our faces, Anshar could be a prince out of a fairy tale, if not for the _emptiness_ in his eyes, reflecting his shattered heart.

"What?"

"How did you know?" he asks again, turning to face me, lips parted slightly in question. "How did you know you were in love with him?"

I inhale sharply. "Don't rub salt in the wound, Anshar," I warn quietly.

"Don't throw the starving wolf a bone," he snaps back. "You need to get this off your chest, Skyglaze. Don't deny it."

"Just like you need to get Syrian off yours?"

This time, it's Anshar's turn to hiss in a sharp breath of air at the mention of Syrian Abayakoon, the runner up of the 25th Hunger Games. They'd two weeks together. Two weeks to fall in love and revel in the other's presence until Syrian was ripped away forever. I can almost see the torn and tattered edges he's left behind, the gaping hole that will always remain wide open in Anshar's bleeding heart. "That's different." Anshar points out. He speaks with such defiance, such rebuke in his lilting voice that I shut up. Fast. "You still have someone you can love. You know who you can rely on and run to when the nightmares get too harsh or reality becomes too prominent. Remember that some of us are not so lucky." And with that, Anshar turns, eyes flashing, and leaves.

…

I'm still standing in the exact place the furious District 2 Victor had left me when Marina comes hurtling out of the Justice Building, tears streaming down her face and blonde hair flying behind her as she flees for the train. Peacekeepers followed carefully and a respectable distance, on guard but giving her space. As she launches herself up the stairs to reach the platform, her shoe catches on one of the steps and she pitches forward. Acting on instinct, I lunge to catch her, and she lands a sobbing mess in my arms. My maternal instinct kicks in on overdrive, and I gently set her on her feet, supporting most of her weight and letting her lean against me as she buries her face in my shoulder and cries. When her shoulders eventually stop shaking, I stroke a hand through her hair and soothe out a few of the knots and snarls. "Shh," I murmur quietly, "Can you tell me what's going on?" Shakily, Marina nods and begins to explain about her father, her best friend, her sister, a promise, in a trembling, soprano voice. The way she speaks tells me that she doesn't talk very often, but I get the sense that she always knows what you need to hear and lets you know what you need when you need it. I vaguely wonder if anyone's been there for her, despite all the times she's been there for them.

**Outro A/N: There you go! The next two tributes and the last of the pre-labeled Careers! (Sorry, Paradigm, I know how much you like them.) Mikail Drakil and Marina Bloyster, submitted respectively by Luthien'sLight and Percy Ross Vulturi Uchihi! Tell me what you think in the review section and how you liked the different PoV! I might to it again, but I'm not sure, I'll leave it completely up to you guys! Sorry for the gap in updating, fanfiction apparently decided that it didn't want to upload any of my documents. We should be back on track now!**

_**Trivia: Who was the runner-up of the 25th Annual Hunger Games? (He has a name, now)**_

**Over, out, and may the odds be ever in your favor,**

**-SetFires (Vixen)**


	6. District 5- We Cannot Be Contained

**Asher 'Wolfchild' Foster (17)**

_"Yeah, it might take a minute to get it_

_But once you get it, everything will be crystal clear_

_I don't think they understand my vision here_

_I don't think they understand my vision here…"_

_~ All I Have (NF)_

Asher Foster. The Wolfchild. Otherwise known as me. Just another abandoned in the ranks of the numerous orphans that roam the streets and side alleys of District 5. And yet… not. Even the highest-ranking officials have heard my name. Have heard of the Wolfchild. I was named Foster, like all the orphans. Courtesy of the "foster homes"- orphanages with fancy names. We all have the surname Foster. So some of us have to make a name for ourselves. My friend Faruq, he calls himself Hunter. Caleb, he calls himself Trackk. We named ourselves, see. None of that power and electric shit. We wanted things that would stand out. Not me, though. I had shown up on the doorstep of the foster home with a note tucked into my blanket saying only _'his name is Asher._' No one ever really questioned it. But… Asher. Product of flames. We had started up a joke about it, Faruq and Caleb and I. We said it was because I would, one day, burn the whole world down. So, when questions started rolling around, that's what I told 'em.

As for Wolfchild... my nickname had been earned only after my rise as gang leader. The Jackals aren't by any means vicious or intentionally cruel, though. Nor am I. Sheesh, I'm not a complete psycho. But, on the flip side of that, I'm not afraid of expressing my claim to the position as leader of my gang. If that means having a serious talk with a rival or a rebellious gang member, I can do that. If it means enforcing my authority with force, I have that down. If it means stealing from Peacekeepers to feed others and those I care about, and occasionally getting caught, then so be it. After the seventeenth whipping, each more brutal then the last and none seeming to have any effect on my character or habits or, well, much of anything (aside from those scars on my back that sting like a bitch sometimes), they sent me to work at the dams, building and rebuilding and working extra shifts every day. An unbroken, pale-skinned boy with a shock of wavy red hair that often fell into his eyes who refused to bow or even bend. Yep. That's me. Eventually, I was sent from the dam to the power generators, instructed to keep watch over them and keep them running throughout the night, keep them safe. With only a butterfly knife and a few other sharp, miscellaneous objects at my disposal. Wonderful. But then, I learned how to use those sharp, miscellaneous objects. Learned how to throw them with my eyes closed and still hit my target. How to evade an opponent and drive one through their gut while they were exposed. And so, my usual slouch slowly straightened into a proud, stiff line. I learned how to hold myself tall and proud, how to make myself look big without endless days of sweat and blood that made absolutely no impact on my lithe frame. A trick that came in handy when the wolves came. Wolves, with blood-chilling howls and snapping teeth and glowing eyes. I fended them off, night after night. Figured out how to snarl and turn into a feral, primal predator that would protect at all costs. It worked. Drove them off night after starless night, the only thing to keep me company the hum and purr of the generators. Until that one wolf. That one, who was so heat-starved she was willing to do anything to keep warm. The air was chilly, and her coat was straggly and she was scrawny, ribs showing through her mangy pelt. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost, because when she showed her teeth and lunged, I showed mine right back and buried my first dagger in the area between her foreleg and upper body. She whimpered and fell back, but she returned not moments later, wincing as she put weight on her left front paw, but hackles raised nonetheless. She was a loner. No pack to protect her. I maintained eye contact with her, and then slowly backed away. I had only ever faced loners, yes, but all had looked sleeker and more well-fed then this one. She'd crept forward, then. Cautious. I never took my eyes from her as I slowly set down the knife I had been holding. Backed farther up. Leaving the generators wide open for her. And when morning hit, she was still there, curled up with her tail over her nose, as close to the heat as she could get without burning herself. As the light hit her fur, I realized that she wasn't as big as I had originally thought. A cub. Wolves didn't leave their offspring, from the little I knew, which made this situation all the more strange. But... there she was. And after a time, we fell into a rhythm. I would grant her the privilege of heat, and she would grant me the privilege of not biting my head off. When I told Faruq of the strange occurrence, he just laughed and jokingly called me her child. "You're like her baby," he laughs. "You said she started leaving dead things by the heat gens when she left. She loves you. Wolfcub."

"But I'm a human," I'd protested. "Not some dog!"

A broad grin had spread across Faruq's features. "Wolfchild, then."

And the name just stuck.

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**Ambrose Volta (14)**

_"Fill your body_

_Just to get outside of it_

_You'd give yourself up_

_Just to get another fix…"_

_~ Fix (Hazel English)_

Oatmeal is boring. But you know what? The rich taste of butter and cream and rich chocolate is boring too. Yes, I know that I should be grateful for what I have. And I am. Sorta. Kinda. Not really. I accept that I am well-fed, that I have the advantage of a roof and a warm place to huddle in the winter. But I often find myself longing to run the streets like the orphans of ou District- they make up five gangs throughout 5. One to the north, another to the south, east, west, and central area of the District. The Tracker Jackers, the Cheetahs, the Mockingjays, the Coyotes, and the Jackals. The Jackals are the most feared and respected gang of them all, led by none other than the Wolfchild himself. Wild, untamed, resilient and brimming with life, just like their alpha. The five leaders of the gangs are tightly knit, but they all look to Asher as their overall ruler. Even Kaede. Kaede, with her hair dyed black on the left and bleached white by the sun on the right, vibrant violet eyes and the body of a superstar. But anyways. Back to the oatmeal. I can't think of anything _less_ appetizing at the moment. Except maybe soggy toast or lukewarm water, and the latter isn't really a food. But the brown mush of oats and milk and whatever the _hell_ else they put in oatmeal is enough to make my stomach churn. I wince. Not very many people in the District even get to eat three times every day- much less have all three hot and prepared by servants. My father is one of the wealthiest among 5, owning the largest power plant in the District. My mother is paying more attention to that little brat, Volton. Shoving my chair back from our polished mahogany table, I whisk up the stairs to change into something presentable. She doesn't even notice.

…

"Hey!" I jump at the harsh voice from behind me. A dark-skinned boy leans against a pillar of one of the more lavish houses in my neighborhood, black hair swept to the side and midnight eyes cold. "Whatcha doin' in Coyote territory?" Immediately, I want to slam my head into the nearest tree. Of course. The Coyote gang patrols the western border of the District. The Mockingjays are the eastern edge. Shit. This is Faruq Hunter. Calm under pressure keeps his cool in every situation and a superb shot with his powerful longbow, made from the wood found in the depths of our forest. Leader of the Coyotes, second only to the legendary Wolfchild. Nothing like Kaede, with passion in her every movement, conviction in her voice, and determination written across her beautiful features.

"I'm sorry!" I hastily blurt. "I wasn't looking for trouble!"

Faruq raises an eyebrow, stalking closer, "Kaede told me about you. Bolt's seen you hanging around the Cheetah gang as well. But you always look for the Mockingjays. Why?"

I put my chin up. I don't know enough about this boy to tell him about my attraction to females. "Why is it any concern of yours?"

As soon as the defiant words leave my mouth, I know they were the wrong ones. Faruq's eyes slit with distrust and he paces closer, reaching back for an arrow. That mighty longbow is gripped tightly in his right hand, and as he lays an arrow to the string, I skip backward. "You have two minutes. Run, and when those two minutes are up, it's up to you whether I can put an arrow in you or not. Or you can talk, and maybe I'll set you up with that Mockingjay you've been eyeballing for three months now."

o0o

**Asher 'Wolfchild' Foster (17)**

_Shit_. I rip another page out of my sketchbook at lob it halfheartedly towards the waste bucket in the far right corner of the room. Glaring down at the blank spread of paper before me, I grit my teeth and set the charcoal to the paper once again. _Take it slow_, I tell myself. _Careful. This is the best way to get it off your mind._

Slowly, painfully, a creature made of fangs and claws and dripping blood takes form on the page. I sigh out a breath of relief. Thank _god_. I can normally summon creatures straight out of my mind and onto the page, bend the pencil and paper to my will until my desired image floods onto the page in a series of jagged lines and shadow-filled crevices. The half dozen crumpled balls of paper now sitting mournfully in the bottom of the trash can attest to my state of disorder this morning. Night. Whatever. I can't tell the difference anymore. _Don't particularly care either._ I close my sketchpad with a definite snap and toss it onto my bed before carefully making my way to the door of our foster home. Really, it's just an orphanage with some fancy-ass name that eases the conscious of a few dozen people who like to pretend they fucking matter. Ha. We all know that the Peacekeepers will crack down hard on any of those who dare to disobey President Seren. Fucking dogs. Easing out the entrance is easier than expected, which promptly puts me on edge. Maybe the white dogs are running their paw patrols. Keeping to the shadows, I creep around to the backside of the house, where a 60 yard stretch of open ground lies between me and the person I need to get to. The only person who understands what it's like to be haunted by faces and nameless voices. Knows how it feels when the hairs rise on the back of your neck and you wake up in a cold sweat every single night. I glance left. Right. Spare a second to throw one back over my shoulder before I pelt across the stretch of grass and dive behind a pillar that guards the massive double doors. Seriously, that house looks more like a castle than anything. Might be why Faruq claimed it with a shit-eating grin on his face and promised me a seat at the head of the table. I slip to the doors and gently push them open, sliding inside and letting them snick shut behind me. Instantly, I see dark silhouettes sitting up all over the room, feel the weight of several suspicious pairs of eyes resting on me. Rolling my own, I sigh. "Hey! Relax, it's just me, idiots. Asher Foster." The figures relax somewhat, and a welcome voice slithers out of the shadows from the back of the room.

"Welcome back, child of the wolves." A grin breaks out over my face as Faruq steps out of the shadows. His face goes from an easy smile to confuse, to flat out horrified in a span of three seconds. "Dear lord. Please tell me that is not what you're wearing to the Reaping."

I purse my lips. Shit. I forgot about that.

o0o

**Ambrose Volta (14)**

That smug son of a_ bitch._ Faruq Hunter's infuriating grin had stayed with me all the way from the Mockingjay safehouse to the center of the town square. Kaede had accompanied us, head tilted to the side as she studied me. One more than one occasion her gaze had lingered on certain areas of my body and I had felt my face flush against my will. The leader of the Mockingjays was a few rows behind me, hand on a cocked hip and her stunning features fixed in a mask of glorious boredom. She barely even twitched as our mayor read out the long, drab speech he was required to present, didn't bat an eyelash as the escort bounded up to take the center of the stage.

"Hello, District 5!" Achillea Avenglen announced, her powder blue wig bouncing with each word. "And happy Hunger Games!" The crowd responded with their token applause, as Achilla prattled on about how lovely it was to be here and how much of a privilege being in the Games is, blah blah blah. Lovely to be here my ass. Who wanted to be in a place where the word tribute meant corpse? Well, with the one exception of our sole Victoress, Stardust Moonglade. Her Games had been rigged, though. Her name was not drawn by chance. But she was a killer shot with that silver recurve bow of hers and could kick ass like nobody's business. The 24th Games had been her forte. She was actually the same age I was when she won, and poor fifteen year old me had been smitten with her ash-blonde braid and starlight blue eyes before I had met Kaede. Speaking of, the girl in question had now snapped ramrod straight, eyes alert and body tense. Her lips are moving quickly, as if in prayer. A quick glance around tells me that most of the gang leaders are all strung up. No wonder. Last year the leader of the Cheetahs got chosen for the Games and we were given hell for it once he died. Achillea struts back to the podium and beams, reading out the name in a preppy, eager voice. "Ambrose Volta!"

What? That can't be true. I'm supposed to live out the rest of my life here, not die this young! I had plans! I was going to join the Mockingjays, become Kaede's girlfriend, we could rule the world together! But now everything has been cut short. _Oh well, then, Ambrose_. I say to myself calmly. _Time to kick some serious ass._ I stand up tall and shoulder my way through the crowd and stand at Achilla's side. I will not be that poor girl who gets killed in the bloodbath. I will not be that meek tribute who everyone targets and laughs at. I will be swift and as deadly as lightning. They won't see me coming. Achillea completely blows past asking for Volunteers. She skip-hops over to the boy's bowl and when she reads out the name, dread pools low in my gut.

o0o

**Asher 'Wolfchild' Foster (17)**

"Faruq Foster!"

I snort as Faruq shoves his way to the front of the crowd and snaps at the Escort as he strides up to the stage, "It's _Hunter_, you bitch." The Escort blinks owlishly at him, and Faruq bares his teeth at her. I suppress a rueful smile- seems like Far has been picking up on some of my habits, like this one- I learned that my she-wolf showed her teeth when she was pissed. So I started showing mine right back. Now it's just a habit.

He takes his place at the front of the stage and my mind starts to spin. I'm going to die anyway. I had been diagnosed with radiation poisoning or some shit like that almost a year ago. Three more years to live. Two, in three weeks' time. Might as well go out in style. Take as many of those Capitol-loved brats our with me as I can. Faruq has more here anyway- a potential family, a girl, a squad. He and Caleb can manage my gang together. Let's have some fun.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I take long, measured steps towards the stage as the crowd separates to make a pathway for me. When I hit the stairs, I pull an already descending Faruq into a quick, one-armed hug. "Faruq," I breathe into his ear, "You better not die before I do. You understand me, you filthy gobbler carcass?"

Faruq barks out a startled laugh. "I promise, my ally."

I chuckle. "Cut the crap, Far," and shove him the rest of the way down the stairs. At least he got out of it.

"Name?" the escort asks.

I roll my eyes. "Ask them." I gesture at the majority of my gang. "They can tell you." Will I finally be able to kill people? When does the fighting start? Will I get along with anyone? They'll have knives there, right? Will there be wolves? Maybe I can tame one like I did with that she-wolf. I wonder where she is now. Will I be able to impress the Gamemakers? Will the crowd like me? Will- oof. I'm hungry. Is there food anywhere? I wonder if anyone will come and visit me before I leave. Hopefully Far and Caleb can watch over my people as well as they watch over their own.

"-But we can't call him Wolfchild,-" the escort is saying when I come back into it.

"I'm Asher." I sigh and hold out a hand. "Asher Foster. You probably know me as the Wolfchild, but call me Asher."

o0o

**Ambrose Volta (14)**

"How the _hell_ are you so calm right now?" Isaak demands, leaning against the doorframe of my visiting room. I sigh.

"I'm calm because I actually make a decision to not _freak_ _out_ over every little thing in life. Besides," I shrug. "It could be fun!"

_"Fun?"_ Isaak splutters. _"Fun_ is being gutted alive by the Wolfchild's claws or being skewered by a fucking spear?"

"No, that's just..." I shake my head. "Ew. No, the adventure of it, Is. Just think! It'll be like a hunt, or living out on the streets or something!"

"Holy fuck," Isaak mutters. He drops his head into his hands. "Rose, you're going into the Hunger Games, and all you can say is _'hey, maybe it'll be fun'?" _

"To be fair," I point out, I did say that killing was _ew_ and I wasn't freaking out about every little thing."

Isaak lifts his head to glare at me. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Maybe I did," I shrug. My brother just rolls his eyes at me and holds out a battery. I stare at it. "What?"

"It's your token." He explains somberly. "Mom couldn't make it. She had to go help dad. Busy after the Reaping."

I bite my lip. "She- couldn't make it?"

Isaak lets loose a long breath of air and walks over to stand beside my couch. "Kill someone if you have too, using the acid," he instructs quietly. His hand comes to rest on my shoulder and I welcome the weight, for a change, lean into it. "Kill someone if you have too," he repeats quietly. "Good luck, Ambrose."

I stare after him as he departs, before getting up and stretching my arms over my head. _Get your ass up_. I tell myself as I stare down at the battery in my hand. _Now, it's time to fight._

o0o

**Asher 'Wolfchild' Foster (17) **

Faruq stalks into the room and yanks me into a fierce hug. "We choose our friends here, our names, our family." He flicks a knife from his sleeve and slices his own palm, barely wincing at the drag of it across his skin before passing it to me. I pull it across my own hand and Faruq presses our bloodied hands together. "I swear to you, Asher Foster, child of wolves," he begins, grip tight around my hand and brown eyes hard and determined, "That your children are now mine, as your blood is now mine, and if their blood is spilled without vengeance and intervention, let mine so be spilled as well."

"I accept your oath, Faruq Hunter." I reach up and untie my hair, the red cascading over my forehead and flowing into my eyes. I shake my head to clear my vision before taking Faruq's hand and binding it tightly with my hair tie.

"Caleb comes as well," Far breathes into my ear as I tie off the makeshift bandage. "Keep the knife. Preform the same ceremony. Recite the same oath."

"I will," I promise. "Take care of my gang, Coyote."

Faruq grins. "It would be my honor, brother. The Jackals' will be well-taken care of."

…

Caleb limits himself to a salute as he enters the visiting room. "We will honor your memory. We will honor our word. We will honor your people." A grim smile flits across his face as I raise the knife. Slowly and deliberately, I slash another line across my palm, creating a bloody X. Caleb holds out both hands, palms up. I take his right hand and make the incision, before our palms press together and he murmurs the same pledge. "I swear to you, Wolfchild, that your children are now mine, as your blood is now mine, and if their blood is spilled without vengeance and intervention, let mine so be spilled as well."

I nod somberly. "I accept your oath, Leader of the Tracker Jackers."

"Come back here alive, Asher." Caleb sighs, tugging me into a loose embrace. "You have two more years to live- don't waste them."

o0o

**A/N: Oh good lord. Another chapter out, and two more amazing tributes introduced: Asher Foster and Ambrose Volta! For those of you who think Asher familiar- he is also in thorne98's SYOT, Death is the Rule. The SYOT itself is closed, but it's a great story and thorne is a wonderful writer, head over and check it out! Asher was submitted by Luthien'sLight, Ambrose by the ever amazing dsalazz! Some sad news: I'm going through a fairly hard time right now- a close family member of mine recently passed away and I've been struggling lately. I'm going to try and keep updates on track, because normalcy and routine is a good way for me to deal with things like this, but it things get delayed or I'm seeming out of character when we talk, please understand. But enough of my problems, this isn't really about me, XD.**

_**Trivia: Name the five gangs of District 5.**_

**Over, out, and may the odds be ever in your favor,**

**-SetFires (Vixen)**


	7. District 6- We Were Born Sick

**Lancia Carerra (13)**

_"No one heard a single word you said_

_They should have seen it in your eyes_

_What was going around your head…"_

_~Runaway (Bon Jovi)_

Everything is gray. The sky, the streets, the overcast clouds. It's a normal day on the streets of District 6. I sigh, turning away from the window and wandering over to the stairs. Taking the steps two at a time, I make my way up to my room, and over to my bed. Moving quickly and keeping my ears open for any creak or stir that would indicate my papa and that witch, Mazda, are in the house, I strip the bed and swiftly tie the sheets together with a sturdy knot, tugging at it harshly to ensure that it will hold. Halfway to my bedroom window, I stop. It's true that I sneak out of the house seven times out of ten, usually taking more precautions than is really needed, but why am I sneaking out today? I try to limit myself to fourteen times a week, about two times a day, but I don't want to waste this first time on a pleasant stroll. But… I would do anything- literally anything- to get away from Mazda. Her snide comments and exploding temper are enough to make me want to gouge her eyes out. My supposed sister, Suzi, a spoiled brat who always complains about everything is at a 'playdate' with some rich-kid friends of hers. The only two real friends I have in my life are my adopted father, Daniel Carrera, and Jer. His full name is Jericho, but I had had an obsession with nicknames last year, resulting in the shortened version, Jer. Four years my senior, Jer is a rebellious, druggie teenager (even I'm able to figure that out). But despite us meeting up to sneak onto a train for a scenic ride of the city when he was high on something or slightly buzzed, he never made a move on me. He respects my opinions even in that addled state of mind. He listens to me rant about the Capitol and Mazda and Suzi. He lends me his shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold when I need it most. Granted, on the days he's slightly drunk or high, he's distant and unattached, often making small humming noises to show interest. But when he's sober… when he's sober, he's something else. He speaks fluently and smoothly, with some hint of an accent, is an active participator in our discussions and has a tongue sharper than the honed edge of a dagger. He's one of the only things that keeps me sane. Keep me here, instead of fleeing to the woods that form the border between us and District 5, to join the gangs that roam the streets of the power District.

I take another step towards my half-open window. It would be so easy to just knot my ladder to the sill and swing myself out and down into the yard below, where I could slip unnoticed into the outskirts of District 6 and meet Jer. And yet… I know, somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, that sneaking out is wrong. Even if your step-adopted-mother or whatever is an evil witch who wants you dead. But I've gotten past the point of giving a damn. With that thought in mind, I stride to the window and throw my line out, before securing it to the handy little ledge on my windowsill. It's a little knot that Jer taught me- one that would gradually unravel with the amount of force you put on it. After many sessions of trial and error and many close calls, I had mastered the knot and have used it ever since. I give it a yank before deeming it reliable, and then lower myself out. Once my feet hit the ground, I give my makeshift ladder a final tug, tucking it into my backpack alongside my Reaping outfit before I'm gone, whisking around the back of the house and on my way to the District square.

o0o

**Phoenix Doppelman (16) **

_"Some nights, I stay up, cashing in my bad luck_

_Some nights, I call it a draw_

_Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle_

_Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off…"_

_~Some Nights (Fun)_

"Phoenix, dude, get up!" Grunting, I yank a pillow down over my head and smother myself back under the worn blanket over my bed.

"Phoenix!" Another voice. My only response is to try and vanish into my mattress.

"It's the Reaping Day, come on!" With a weary sigh, I drag myself out of bed to face my roommates. Raven and Dove are armed with more pillows, and Dove has a ferocious scowl on her face that would have been intimidating if not for the mirth lighting her pale grey eyes. "What took you so long?" she asks lightly. I just roll my eyes, and shove my hands into my pockets as I shuffle towards the kitchen. Raven follows me, dark head cocked to the side as he watches me pull out the meager food ration that's my breakfast, tear the packet open, it starts chewing.

"Those things are inedible." He observes. "I don't know how you do that." I raise a shoulder in response and finish the rest with a few swift bites. Raven leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his muscled chest. "Dude, are you even gonna talk today?" All that gets him is another shrug. "Ah, well." Ravan huffs. "Your loss." As he saunters off towards Dove, I glance towards the ceiling. Today is the day of the Reaping. The day two of or own will be sent to their deaths. The things they would face in the Arena… I shudder. What if Raven ends up in the Arena? Dove? …Me?

"…I'm sure everything will be okay." Raven is assuring Dove as I resurface from my dark thoughts. "You only have to get through three more of these. You'll be alright."

Alright. I ponder. What does that even mean? All right. Everything will be okay. But it never is, is it? There's always something more you want.

"Is it really though?" I ask aloud. Raven and Dove both turn to stare at me. My voice is gravelly and rough, scratchy in all the wrong places and hoarse everywhere else. "What if one of us did get Reaped?

Dove shifts her weight from foot to foot, visibly uncomfortable.

"There's no telling what the Capitol could do to us once they get us in there. They could send in those mutts they did seven Games ago. They could let loose swarms of tracker jackers. They could strand us on a desert island and all we would have is three days to kill each other, with no food or water. They could turn the Arena into a horror movie. They could put a slow acting poison in the air and it's up to us to either find the antidote or just kill each other so one of us can get out of there and be cured. We have no idea what the Capitol is capable of. They could do anything to us. _Anything._"

"Phoenix, that's enough-" Raven cuts in sharply, but I'm on a roll.

"What if they screw with us like they did in the 17th Games? They don't let up. Ever. They are entertained by our struggle and terror. They have no mercy."

"Dude." Raven stalks up to me, a dangerous glint in his dark eyes. "What the fuck."

I shrug. "Just considering possibilities."

o0o

**Lancia Carerra (13) **

It's so cold. I shudder in my slinky black dress. It only falls to my knees, and my arms have goosebumps all over them. Of course, Mazda has a neat black shawl that she's all bundled up in. Her beady black eyes dart from side to side as she scuttles along beside that _bitch_ who's my so-called 'mother'. Daniel, my father, walks alongside her but shoots pitying glances my way every now and then. Finally, right when we reach the town square, he shrugs off his jean jacket and hands it to me. He tucks it around my shoulders with big, gentle hands and the denim instantly warms me. I notice Mazda shooting us a dirty look, but I pay it no heed, as does Daniel. He pulls me into a fierce embrace before letting me go, and I smile up at him before making my way to my section of the bullpen.

Our golden-haired Escort, a beautiful woman named Lucky, steps up to the podium on stage and begins in a somber voice. "Ladies and gentlemen of District 6. We are gathered here today because of one of the greatest annual events in the history of Panem, the Hunger Games. Please join me in welcoming Victor Justin Hix, of the 21st Hunger Games." Justin Hix won his Games with his skills of camouflage. He's patient, smart, and knows when to pick his battles. He's a good man, and I bet he would be a good mentor. Although he's the only one from our District who's ever won, he has had several of his trainee's get into the top 10. Even though none of them have ever gotten further than 7th, maybe this year will be the year we finally produce his Victor partner.

As Lucky goes through the motions of the beginning stages of the Reaping, my eyes seek out Jer in the crowd on the opposite side of the square. I find him staring intently at something on the horizon, but it's like he feels my eyes on him, and turns to fix me with his piercing, disarming stare. He nods, once. I manage a shaky nod back, before turning my own gaze back to Lucky.

She has a somber expression on her delicate features as she dips a long-fingered hand into the bowl. "Lancia Carerra!"

My name hits me like a slap across the face. I don't necessarily dislike my name. It's not as bad as some of the other's here. But now, in this moment, I've never detested it more. Anger floods through me, and I clench my fists. _What the fuck. _Why couldn't I have god-damn _Volunteered_ instead? All of Mazda's harsh words come raining down around me, echoing in my head and driving me mad. '_You worthless girl, always running away._' '_You're a coward, Lancia Carerra._' It's my name that's been called now, though, and I'll be damned to the seventh circle of hell if I don't do anything about it. _Make an impression,_ Jericho once said to me. _Make an impression, and become something worth remembering. Even if you pay for it, in the end. It's better to burn than to fade away forever. _So I do one of the only things I know how to do. I turn tail and run.

o0o

**Phoenix Doppelman (16)**

That girl is an _idiot_. No real offense meant to her, but the moment she turned and began shoving her way through the crowd, she was done for. She made it fairly far though, her agile build proving advantageous as she weasels her way through reaching arms and grabbing hands. But it all ends soon enough, and she's picked up and slung over a Peacekeeper's shoulders like a sack of potatoes, and when she's set back down, she's obviously fuming. Lucky is hiding her giggles behind a hand, humor gleaming in her eyes. When she recovers, she walks over to the boy's Reaping bowl, rooting around for a few moments before pulling out a paper. "Phoenix… Doppelman?"

I can feel the inquisitive stares on my back as I slowly begin to make my way towards the stage. _You should've expected this, _I berate myself as I put one foot in front of the other. My pseudonym last name has always been something of a mystery to the rest of the community. Doppelman isn't a logged surname of the District, thus eliciting suspicion from the Peacekeepers._ I should have anticipated this_…_ But could you have?_ _Really?_

_Fuck_. I can feel my spine lock up as my foot lands on the first stair. That answer… sounds distinctly like Arianna. I was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder at the orphanage when I was very young, and have been aware of my alter, Arianna, for my whole life. What makes it worse, though, is the fact that I know her trigger, but have no control over her except to _not put myself in dangerous _fucking _situations._ Which is why I'm so afraid of the Games. I will be consistently be put in dangerous situations and Arianna will come out. For who knows how long. Too long. Long enough that I may never again be able to see the light again.

o0o

**Lancia Carerra (13)**

My dad comes in crying. It's not the first time I've seen tears on his face, but it's still a punch in the gut every time I see the glitter in the corners of his eyes. I run to him, burying my face in his chest. He holds me tight as I cry, and gently strokes my back. _Thank you,_ I want to say. _Thank you for being here. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for everything you've done._ But I can't talk through the tremors in my body, the lump in my throat. _Thank you for being my father._ Even though his shoulders shake, his hands are steady as he rubs soothing circles on my back. His voice is a steady hum in my ear as he breathes nonsense words into my ear, and I clutch at the branch he holds out to me as I'm swept along in this river of emotions. _Thank you for holding me._ I hold on to the constant of his voice and claw my way back to the banks of rational thought, heaving my shivering, drenched metaphorical body back onto solid land. I lay there for a moment, before drifting back into the present moment, where my father is still holding me, still whispering to me, still _here with me_.

"I don't want to go, dad." I sob. "I don't want to go to the Capitol." Where all they do is point fingers. Where they stare and laugh and treat you like a toy. Like something to be used and then thrown away without a second thought. And not in the way anyone wants. They look at you like you're something and then applaud when you die. Bets are made on how long you'll last, like it's a dogfight instead of intelligent people with _feelings _and _thoughts_ and _emotions_ who are being forced to fight to the death for some sick form of entertainment. Like lambs led to the butcher's block, one by one we fall, with the cheers of the Capitol ringing in our ears. I don't want to go there. I've spent all my life running, and I want to flee just one more time.

"I know you don't, honey." He tells me gently. "I know." He rubs my shoulders, thumbs pressing into all the right places, eliciting tension from my muscles until I am calmed somewhat. His fingers catch roughly on the smooth material of the jacket as he draws back. I glance down at it, making to tug it off, but his calloused hand over my own stops me. "Keep it." He murmurs softly. "Keep it, and think of us when you win." _Thank you for having faith in me_.

"I will, dad," I promise, trying for a smile though my tears. _Thank you for being here._

o0o

**Phoenix Doppelman (16) **

_Back and forth. Back and forth. To the left, to the right. Over and over again_. I'm wearing a tread through the expensive carpet lining the floor of my visiting room. No one's going to come and see me, I know that. Raven and Dove will be glad to have me gone, and they can continue their lovey-dovey shit all they like now that I am as good as dead. Even if I return alive, I will be sent to live in the Victors' Village, far, far away from our small, shared house on the outskirts of the District. If I win. Which I won't. Obviously. We've only had one Victor, and that says a lot about us. Granted, we know the higher Districts illegally train for these Games, live and breathe for them, but if we lower folks go out and do what we do best- _survive_\- we could be fine. We might not know how to handle a weapon, but we know how to go hungry and live off of barely any food or water for days. The Careers grow up in luxury and are spoiled brats. We know the bite of poverty and the sting of starvation. The Arena, despite its many nuances (which are sometimes not so subtle) isn't so different. We all have our home turfs, and ours just happens to be in the wild. Exactly where our Arena is so frequently located. How convenient.

I know I can take most of what the Capitol throws at me. I can deal with what comes at me and still see everything that could go wrong, so I'm always prepared and always have a plan. I know _I _can. Arianna… my whole world is gone when she's in control. She is in my body, in my head, and she locks me in a cage with a trigger key that only springs me free when she unknowingly stumbles across it. I sit there, in the dark, for hours, days, weeks on end, not knowing what's happening around me, who my body interacts with, what it does. A stranger in my own head, in my own skin. And there's not a damn thing I can do to stop it. The Games will be a living hell for me, only I'll be imprisoned behind bars made of unseeable steel and invulnerable iron. A line of salt drawn on the stone between me and my life. Trenches filled with holy water will be dug in the Capitol, and blood with stain the earth in the pattern of crucifixes before I reach the Arena. Because hell is empty, and all the demons are here. Inside Panem. Inside _me._

o0o

**A/N: Hello, everyone :) I hope all of you are doing well, and please forgive the lack of an update yesterday. It wasn't a pleasant day for me, one of my low days, and I truly am sorry for neglecting all of you wonderful people! Please welcome our tributes from District 6: Phoenix Doppelman and Lancia Carrera, submitted by Percy Ross and thorne98! Even though Phoenix had no visitors, I thought the insight into his struggle with Arianna and his views of life would be helpful to you readers to pick up a bit more of his character. The chapter title is taken from the song **_**Take Me To Church**_** by Hozier. One of Phoenix's last lines is a quote from William Shakespear: "Hell is empty and all the demons are here."**

_**Trivia: Why was Chase whipped and beaten in the prologue?**_


	8. District 7- We Will Not Bow

**Elwood Liang (14)**

_"Buckle up, I'ma give it to ya stronger_

_Hands up, we could go a little longer_

_Tonight I'ma get a little crazy_

_Get a little crazy, baby…"_

_~Rude Boy (Rihanna)_

"So, you really want to end up in jail and murdered?" Mayra leans forward, elbows on her knees, eyes curious- if not a little bit confused.

I snort. "Hell no. Why would I?"

The blonde just shakes her head, settling back against the trunk of a towering redwood. "You just said that you wanted to follow in your brother's footsteps. He pissed off a Peacekeeper and wound up being killed in jail. I was just making sure."

"Mayra," I sigh. "If I ever wanted to get my ass kicked, I'd detonate seventy firecrackers in the town square."

"Fair," Mayra acknowledges. "Speaking of firecrackers," she grabs her satchel from where it rests at her feet and tosses one of the previously mentioned objects at me.

I catch it and move to chuck it right back at her, before rethinking myself and bringing it back in and study it. "Where'd you get this?"

Mayra shrugs. "A guy was coming through. He…tripped and spilled the loot. I was conveniently there to help and might've missed one while handing them back."

I take a brief second to applaud her, before pocketing the firework and picking my axe back up. Mayra hops up and hands me a log and I grin at her before setting it back on the stump I use for chopping. My dad, a stern man named Yoo, runs a mill called Liang's Logs. Catchy, right? I've been chopping wood since I was strong enough to whack something and break it. I move to swing the axe, intending to split the wood in half, but then I hear the familiar clip-clop of hooves on cobblestone. I set down the axe.

"Got a match?" I ask suddenly, clicking my fingers.

"Yeah," Mayra nods, before handing one over. "What's the-"

Before she can finish her sentence, I'm darting to the edge of our little clearing and striking the match, before igniting the fuse to that firecracker and tossing it on the road.

Mayra barely has the time to exhale, breathing out, "Shit," and dive for the trees. I follow suit, and then the firecracker explodes in a cascade of red and gold sparks.

The last thing I hear before bolting into the forest is a bellow of pain and rage, along with some interesting cuss words that I file away for later use, and then the crashing and snap of breaking branches as someone charges after me in hot pursuit.

o0o

**Danielle Oakwood (17)**

_"I am the fire_

_I am burning brighter_

_Roaring like a storm_

_I am the one I have been waiting for…"_

_~I am the Fire (Halestorm)_

Being this high up is exhilarating. Feeling the air on your skin, the heat of the sun beat down upon your face, the ash of the wind as it whips through your hair. I scramble through the branches of an old fir, ignoring the brief biting sting of twigs and bark scraping against my legs and arms in favor of getting higher, higher until all I can see is green and brown and blue. Treetops stretch around me for what seems like thousands of miles, and I can hear birds singing to each other in the early morning. I wipe my hands on my pants, sweat and morning dew slicking my palms. Far off in the distance, I can hear the gruff bellow and call of lumberjack, already hard at work. Shaking my head, I settle back against the thick trunk of the tree, legs tucked up beneath me, and gaze out across the treetops. I haven't been in this stretch of the forest before. See, to an outsider, they wouldn't understand how to tell one part of the forest from another. But because I was born and raised here, I can easily navigate the seemingly endless expanses of shrubbery and thick canopies. I know how to mark every fallen tree- this one has a knot next to that sapling, the one a little ways west is home to a long-abandoned bird's nest in the upper branches- every deer trail, every animal den. I usually invite some of my friends along with me to explore when I feel like going to new places, or at least my boyfriend, Dax, but today I just needed the solitude. I needed to be alone as I felt the cool morning breeze whisper against my skin and the dewdrops spatter against my legs as I worked my way through new undergrowth. Inhaling deeply, I fill my lungs with fresh scent of the woods right after a rain, before slowly beginning my descent. The bark scrapes at my palms and the insides of my legs as I slither the rest of the way down, but I ignore it in favor of taking one last glance around. I'll be back tomorrow, I tell myself. I'm seventeen. I just have this one and then one more after that, and I'm safe. Safe. I won't need to worry about this anymore. Just get through the next few weeks and then you'll have another year. Just two more times. And with that thought solidly in mind, I straighten my back, toss my long brown hair over a shoulder and head for home.

o0o

**Elwood Liang (14)**

I rocket through the trees, barely glancing over my shoulder as I book it. I refuse to get caught. I haven't before, and I won't now. Another enraged bellow reaches my ears and I have to stifle a small giggle, pelting helter-skelter through the forest. Mayra is probably up a tree somewhere- I don't blame her for it. Despite how much she usually covers up for my pranks, this was something we both know was beyond her control. All I have to rely on now was my speed, agility, and wits. A branch pops up into my path and I skid around and under it, hoping desperately that it will slow my pursuer down for maybe five seconds. A whole lot of shit can happen in five seconds. At a full out sprint, I could do a U-turn and double back to the mill. Or I could try to find a suitable tree to climb. Mayra taught me some snare tricks she learned from a deer hunter- I might be able to set one and get out and escape before the aggravated Peacekeeper got free. But I'm shit at both climbing and snares- how the fuck am I supposed to tie a slip knot with a vine that's half the size of my fucking body?- and talking my way out of things has never been my strong suit. Hell, I'm usually the first one to apologize in a situation where we get snatched by the authorities. Turn around it is. Reaching out, I snag the nearest branch of the next looming tree and, ignoring the sting and scratch of the rough bark against my skin, swing around it, and bolt for home.

…

"How'd you get away?" Mayra demands when I slow to a halt at the bottom of her sycamore. "You can't climb or set traps to save your life!"

"Luck," I grin, wiggling my fingers. "And, of course, my sparkling charm and blinding wit."

Rolling her eyes, the blonde hops down from her perch and runs her fingers through her tangle of hair. "Yeah, okay, El." she grins, and I start taking off again. This time, Mayra jogs beside me until we reach the mill. She hugs me goodbye, with a little peck on the cheek as well. I jump at that, and she giggles at me before heading down the road towards her house to prepare for the Reaping.

As I step inside the house, my father greets me with a raised eyebrow and a demand of, "Care to explain why the Head Peacekeeper showed up at my door not ten minutes ago with half his beard scorched off?"

Well, shit.

o0o

**Danielle Oakwood (17)**

"Danielle!" Maya Thorn, my best friend, pulls me into a quick hug as I open the door to our shared house. Maya isn't an orphan, per se, but her dad died from a wolf attack not three years ago, and her mother had retreated into this shell of loss and regret and loneliness that no one can seem to snap her out of. Maya is an only child, and, because of the weight her situation has unexpectedly thrust upon her shoulders, we'd taken both her and her mother in. "You left without us!" she accuses as she steps back. "Dax and I were worried sick before we saw your note!"

I wince. "Sorry?"

"Sorry doesn't cover it!" a light voice exclaims from the doorway. "Dani, do you know how nervous I was until Maya found your note?"

"He was bawling for you," Maya confesses in my ear. "Like a big baby."

"I was not," Dax protests indignantly.

"You were." Maya shoots back. You were whining and worrying and being a general pain in my ass."

"Hey!" I interject sharply. "Nothing in Maya's ass, okay, Dax? You're my boyfriend. Save it."

Maya chokes on air. "Danielle-"

Dax throws back his head and laughs. He looks stunning, standing there in his hand-me-down suit and tie, making me feel plain and unremarkable in my plain grey dress. He's remarkable. Maya notices my staring and makes a face.

"Ew, I can practically see the love hearts in your eyes. Let's go."

…

"It is a time for both repentance and a time for thanks," our Mayor reads out. His eyes are weary, and he already looks like someone just killed- or in this case, Reaped- his dog. If we even had dogs. The only canines we get are the wolves from the woods up in 5. Vicious things, with wild eyes and snapping jaws and claws the length of your forearm. The crowd shifts, restless, The past Victors are named- Garret Fir and Harriet Redwood. We actually had three, but Sequoia committed suicide soon after her Victory Tour. They wave somberly at the crowd and our escort, a woman seemingly made of nothing but an alarming combination of pumpkin orange and cotton candy pink, skips up the podium and chirps a greeting and goes on and on about what an honor it is to be here. I bite back a snort. Yeah, right. District 7 might not be as scrappy as 12, but all of us know that she would much rather be moved somewhere where the crowd cheered and hung onto her every word. Finally, the signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" One more year. One more year and this will all be over. Fyrian's hand dips into the Reaping bowl, shuffling around until her brightly manicured nails (a distressingly bright shade of lime green) close around a slip of paper. District 7 waits, breaths baited and muscles tense. Even the birds had gone quiet, the rustling of the leaves still. "The female tribute of the 26th annual Hunger Games," announces our escort, in a clear voice, "Is Danielle Oakwood!"

o0o

**Elwood Liang (14) **

Oh. The poor thing. Danielle, a pretty girl with long brown hair and almond-shaped eyes is standing frozen in a group of her peers, and her expression would be comical in any other situation. Her mouth was opened in a little O of surprise, her eyes wide. Both eyebrows raised and a hand to her chest.

"Come on up, sweetheart," cooes the woman on stage. "It's okay." Danielle gives a little shake of her head but starts moving anyway. I chuckle under my breath, disrupting the slight melody I had been humming. When she finally reaches her spot, Fyrian pats her shoulder before bobbing over to the other bowl. "Oh, such fun!" she burbles, practically pouncing on the bowl and reaching inside. "And now, please give our male tribute a round of applause!" Aaand, she's back at the podium again. Fucking hell, how does she even walk in those monstrous things? Her feet are near vertical from where she's crammed them into tiny heels that look at least three sizes to small. Something's wrong with that. Something's off. But then again, I'm pretty sure there's something off about me because as my name is called, it's not dread or fear or pain that hits me first. It's eagerness. I feel a grin spreading over my face, and I can't help rubbing my hands together. "This is sweet!" I mutter under my breath as I make my way to the stage. "I'm gonna give the Capitol hell!"

…

I officially love Mayra. As we'd stepped off the stage, she'd bolted out of the crowd in tears and pulled me into a tight hug. Result, she was able to slip another firecracker into my pocket. The Peacekeepers never knew what hit them.

o0o

**Danielle Oakwood (17)**

How? How could this have happened? I was supposed to make it. Get through this unscathed. And yet, here I am, sitting among luxury and beautiful things, the clock ticking in the background as I am allowed one more hour with those I love.

Tick tock, tick-tock.

My mother sobs as she holds me, burying her face in my shoulder and clutching desperately at my clothes, my hair as if to keep me from leaving.

"Come back," she begs. "Come back."

Tick tock, tick-tock.

My father grips me by the shoulders, looking me straight on and tells me the exact same thing as my mother.

"Come back, Danielle," he tells me. "Come back."

_Tick tock, tick-tock. _

Maya sits down on the floor with me. She takes my hair from where my mother piled it on top of my head for the Reaping and gently pulls it into a braid, gentle fingers weaving their way through my hair. When she's done, she ties it off with a scrap of cloth she her Reaping dress.

"Won't that ruin it?" I ask, and Maya only shrugs.

"Doesn't matter. But you have to come back, Danielle. You understand?"

And I wonder: when they say, 'come back', do they know that I will come back regardless?

It'll be up to me if I arrive back in 7 with a heartbeat.

_Tick tock, tick-tock._

Dax is the last to enter. He draws me to him, and I let myself be held for a moment, reveling in his strength and his air of calm and reassurance. "You can do this. I know you. Don't let anyone or anything slow you down. Keep going fast and strong, like you always have." I nod, biting my lip and rubbing furiously at my stinging eyes. "You have to be who you are. Adventurous, outgoing- make friends. Get yourself allied with strong tributes who you can help keep alive."

"And in return, they will help me." I finish confidently. "I can do it."

Dax opens his mouth. About to say something. But then the Peacekeepers sweep in and take him out, steering him towards the door. "Remember!" Dax calls out, jamming his foot between the door and the frame to from closing. "You are the fire! Don't let-" and then the door closes on him. And the clock keeps ticking.

_Tick tock, tick-tock._

But no matter what, Dax is right. I am brave, I am bold, I am strong. I am the fire. I take the words he told me, the love and support and encouragement I've gotten over all the years and store it in a little box. Right next to my heart. I am Danielle Oakwood. And I will win the 26th Hunger Games.

_Tick tock, tick-tock._

o0o

**Elwood Liang (14)**

I can't help but bounce in my seat a little as I wait for my first visitor. The Games. I'm going into the Hunger Games. Yeah, sure, they're brutal and cold-hearted, but the chaos of them. People running around in terror like chickens with their heads cut off. Well, after seeing the last Hunger Games, people were having their heads cut off. Maybe not such a great simile. But still... the Capitol. I'm gonna give them hell.

"I do hope you're not planning to treat this all like some big joke," Yoo growls from the doorway. I glance up, quickly pasting my most innocent expression over my features.

"Of course not, father."

"This is serious, Elwood. People will die, and the Capitolites watch them die for sport. One wrong step, one wrong twitch, and boom, you're dead. Don't be so reckless, son. This is not something to take lightly."

"I know, dad."

"Get away from the Cornucopia as fast as possible. You know trees, you know which ones have edible berries. You know how to chop wood, how to make a fire. Team up with people. Team up with a girl. They're usually smarter then you are-"

"I know, dad." I cut in. "I've heard you talking. I'll be okay."

Slowly, Yoo nods. And then he reaches up and removes the leather cord from around his neck. Three solid silver beads are threaded through it, and it must have cost a fortune. Pressing it into my palm, my father nods to me before walking to the door. "Good luck, son."

…

Mayra has composed herself before she is let into my room, and even though her eyes are red and puffy, the grin on her face is enough to tell me she's alright. "Well?" she asks eagerly.

"They never knew what hit them," I smirk. She nods, her grin still plastered on. And then we sit. Silent. I've never known Mayra to be an especially talkative person, but she's never been this quiet before. Ever. But, finally, she speaks.

"You don't have to say anything. But I need to tell you something. I've been wanting to ask for a while, but I haven't gotten the guts to do it until now. I like you and I'd love to go out with you, once this is all finished. Do you feel the same way? It's fine if you don't, I'd rather try this and fail then regret not trying at all."

I blink. Once. Twice. That… wasn't what I had expected. I realize my mouth is hanging open and I shut it with a sharp click. "Um."

Mayra laughs a little. "I know it's a lot to process." She stands, leans down, and pecks me on the cheek. Again. "Just don't do anything stupid, 'kay?" A small grin. "And come back safe."

o0o

**A/N: Hi everyone! Please, take a moment and look back upon these two wonderful contestants, Elwood Liang and Danielle Oakwood, everybody! The tributes of District 7! (Subbed by GreyWolf44 and thorne98.)**

_Trivia: What is the name of my next SYOT?_

**Over, out, and may the odds be ever in your favor!**

**-SetFires (Vixen)**


	9. District 8- We Are Not Made To Be Broken

**Sash Radcliffe (16)**

_"From New York to LA, getting high rock n' rollin'_

_Got a room, trash it up, 'till it's ten in the morning_

_Girls in stripper heels, boys rollin' in Maseratis _

_What they need in this world is some love..."_

_~If I Had You (Adam Lambert)_

"Sash, you ready for this?" Glancing up, I meet river-blue eyes from across the expanse of the stage. Rollag Stone leans against one of the huge speakers by the edge of the platform, glitter and spikes and dark shadows. Throwing him a sly grin, I bat my eyelashes at him.

"Sure as any other, rockstar."

Rollag laughs and prowls up behind me, lacing his arms around my chest and holding me close. "We're gonna give them a hell of a show today."

"I know we will." I glance up at him, tilting my head _just _so.

Rollag frowns, untangling us and stepping back to bop my nose. "No. I'm not messing up your lipstick. That's for the show, baby, not foreplay."

I pout at him, coaxing another sunshine laugh from his lips. The dark-red stuff on my mouth gets _everywhere_ when I try to kiss him, and we can't really have that happening right before we go on stage to perform. Today isn't about us. It's about _them_. My heart gives a little lurch at the thought of just _why_ we are back here today. It's not from some pleasure concert for our home District, oh no. We don't get that. Today is Reaping, and after we leave the audience sky-high, our Escort is just going to drag them back down again. So we've decided that we're going to push them so hard that nothing in Panem can take away from this performance. We always give everything we have to every concert, but today we're going to give a little bit more. For them. For the two kids going to their death. Give them something to remember their District by, leave them with something positive, instead of stepping on that train remembering bleak skies and smoke-filled air. It's the least we can do. They have done nothing to deserve this, the eternal punishment dished out by the Capitol for a crime committed long ago. And yet we suffer in silence, unheard by authority, trampled by lawmakers. So, year by dragging year, we have learned to survive. Learned to cope, in our own separate ways. For Rollag, it's singing. Giving his voice free reign and letting it soar to the clouds and back. For me, it's the bass. The feeling of the pick between my fingers, the thrum of the strings beneath my hands. And hopefully, for our audience today, it will be our music that can set them free. At least for a little bit.

o0o

**Santeena Paige (13)**

"_Till now I always got by on my own_

_I never really cared until I met you_

_And now it chills me to the bone_

_How do I get you alone? How do I get you alone?"_

_~Alone (Heart)_

"_Ouch,"_ I hiss, wincing at the stinging prick in my finger. Blood wells around the wound, and despite the minimal amount of it, the sight still makes me sick to my stomach. I glance around quickly for a spare strip of fabric, and I latch onto the first one that I see, quickly wrapping it around my index finger. Bella, my best friend, leans over from her own station just a few feet down the row and fixes me with a concerned look. "Nothing," I mutter back at her, hoping my voice doesn't carry _too much_ down the long aisle to where our overseer is staring balefully out at all of us. A wicked whip is coiled at his belt, and I shudder to remember the times it's been used. He's very strict, and the rules are firmly set and enforced: No talking, no laughing, no food or water aside from the rations we were given in our work shifts. Do not leave the factory without express permission, which was rarely given- rarer than those who had the courage to ask that brute of a man for it, anyways. The rules were harsh, but they were in place, and they were to be followed at all times. Even on a day like this. My heart sinks to my gut as the full weight of the event this afternoon washes over me. The Reaping. Two children- one of them who very well could be me- sent to their deaths, which were to be televised all around Panem, shown as sport and not the cold-hearted violence it really is. I gag, suddenly, recalling the _blood_ and _gore_, remembering the sickening _crunch_ of snapping bones and the anguished cries of a child who knows death is upon them.

"Hey," The soothing voice is at my ear, and I start, glancing up to see Bella crouched down beside me. Her own station lies empty, painfully in full view of the overseer.

"Bella!" I exclaim, keeping my voice low- so essentially low. "What are you doing, get back to your stall!"

"You're more important to me than some piece of fabric." She declares, putting a hand on my shoulder. I reach up and grip it tight, her skin soft and unblemished beneath my own.

"You'll get beaten," I try half-heartedly, even as I hold onto her wrist like a lifeline. She squeezes my shoulder that much tighter, like she's passing her strength to me through the simple gesture.

"I can take it," she whispers back. "I can take it, Santeena. Take it for you."

o0o

**Sash Radcliffe (16)**

We perform. And the crowd loves it. Loves _us_, as Rollag's voice soars higher than the clouds and Stitch's drums pound like their hearts. As Stygia sweeps them away on a tide of music, ebbing and flowing, sweeps them into a land of peace and prosperity, the land they dream of, while I provide the tether that keeps them grounded, keeps them from simply staying there forever while reality continues on around them. But as we near the end of our set, as the music swells, coming to a final, triumphant close, Rollag says _no._ He says no in his own way, momentous and subtle at the same time, in perfect synchronicity. He keeps singing. We blow through our last song and he barrels right into another, one that we all know by heart, that we've played at soundchecks so often that it might as well be on our list. So he continues. And we play with him, owning the stage for as long as we possibly can. And, as it turns out, it's a damn long time. Rollag sings until he physically can't, until his voice shatters on the last note, and we stay with him. The sun is high in the sky as Rollag sweeps into a graceful bow, blue eyes tired but shining with pride all the same. "Thank you, District 8!" He calls, voice wrecked and gaze shining. "Thank you!"

But it isn't the District he's thanking at all. Because as we step off the stage, intermingle with the others in the bullpen, reality comes crashing back down in a cacophony of blue-tinged memories and recollections of sands stained red. No matter how talented any of us are, we are still below the Reaping line. Still vulnerable and in danger, despite us being on top of the world.

The Escort teeters on the stage we've just vacated, the stands that hold the Reaping bowls pushed back into the center. She grips the microphone tight, and I can't help comparing it to the easy, practiced way Rollag holds his. Her voice is shrill as she speaks into it, and the whole District visibly seems to cringe away from her, trying to reconcile this sound with the _music_ they heard just a few moments ago.

"Hello, District 8!"

Her voice hits the crowd like a blow to the solar plexus, and I take a small step back. As Scarlett waltzes her way across the stage to the swiftly erected podium, I let my gaze wander across the crowd. In stark comparison to the joy I had seen on their faces not 10 minutes prior, expressions of sorrow and terror are written clearly across their features now. My heart twinges empathetically as I catch sight of a mother with tears streaming down her face, lips moving in silent prayer as she watches Scarlett's hand dip into the glass bowl. "And now, to announce our girl tribute this year!" she announces giddily, and the entire square goes still enough to hear the soft whisper of the breeze as it rustles through the fabrics of the merchant's stalls around us. "Santeena Paige!"

The only sound in the heavy silence that ensues is a soft gasp, which is quickly cut off. I cast an eye around the square, and my gaze alights on a young girl- 12 or 13 at the most, given her height and where she stands among her peers- with dark, thick hair and wide brown eyes. One hand covers her mouth in a classic image of shock, and it might have been comical had it not been for the gravity of our situation. Her small chest is moving fast- dangerously so, and concern flashes through me. _Please don't let her have a panic attack. She's too young for this._ Santeena slowly lets her hand drop, before almost immediately bringing it back up to chew at her nails. Not a moment after, it moves to the back of her neck and then to her hair, fisting tight like she doesn't know what to do with it anymore. I can only watch as her hands flit around her face, run through her hair, come back to her mouth as she bites on a nail. She hasn't even begun to move, aside from the jerky movements that I'm seeing now.

"Santeena Paige?" Scarlett coaxes, and that seems to snap the girl out of her daze. She jolts, starting forward, and one of the girls beside her snickers. A blush rushes to her face, hot and red, and she takes another stumbling step, shoved by the person behind her. I can practically feel the shame radiating off her as she makes her way up to the stage on unsteady, coltish legs. Santeena trips at the first step and crimson flares up her neck. Her second attempt goes better, she makes it up onto the stage and manages to reach her designated spot. She's flushed and trembling by the time she gets there, hair sticking to her face and eyes wild. Scarlett barely pays her a second glance before she's strutting back across the stage.

"Now," she drawls into the microphone, and the condescension in her words makes my skin crawl. "Since _that's_ out of the way, it's time to announce our boy tribute!"

o0o

**Santeena Paige (13)**

All I've known for the 13 years of my life has been law and order. Rules set in stone, that are not to be disobeyed. _Ever_. And it's been an unspoken rule that someone _will_ Volunteer if one of the members of _The Mortal Instruments _is Reaped. So when Sash Radcliffe's name is called out, I expect the instant commotion before the telltale words- _"I Volunteer as tribute!"_ They don't come. Sash mounts the stage, and still, there is no one to take his place. I glance to the left, towards the boy's half of the square. There, I see Rollag, the lead singer and Sash's boyfriend, with his hand clamped over another boy's mouth, fire in his eyes as he glares around at the rest of his peers. The message is clear: _stand down._ I stare at him in shock. His boyfriend is up on the platform, a lamb on display before it is led to the butcher's block, and he's telling us to _stand down?_ My eyes flit between him and Sash, and I can see the love between them, the heat and _connection_ when their eyes meet. And Sash dips his head in a small nod. _I know what I have to do._ The realization hits me like a thunderbolt. Sash is a leader- whether he is fully aware of it or not, he is a role model for so many people out there, young and old. He is a beacon of hope, and even if it is his destiny to be darkened and wiped out by the Hunger Games, it would be so much more inspirational, in a sick, twisted sense, if he did get Reaped for the Games and died a tragic, bloody death at the hands of some illegally trained Career. If he were to be saved today, then the whole of Panem would benefit from hearing his music and see him perform for the rest of his career, but they would not see the weight of what is going on around us. Even the Capitol would have to acknowledge the fact that what they do to us has a huge impact on everyone. Sash is a star, famous and beloved all over the Panem- if he were to go into the Games, it would prove a point. A crucial point. Even if you're famous, you are not safe, and nothing can stop the Capitol from taking what is yours and ripping it all away in a matter of seconds. Granted, the Capitol may find it fitting, that they take down one of the District's stars and put him down like some diseased dog, but Sash will leave his mark. Inevitably. Undoubtedly. It's all like some sick publicity stunt- except that death isn't a stunt at all.

…

On our way up to our visiting rooms in the Justice Building, the Peacekeepers escort Sash and I side by side. The trembling is back in my legs, making my whole body quiver and my knees threaten to buckle. We reach the foyer, and I stare at the set of stairs before us in dread. One spirals up to where Sash will take his last visitors, and the one on the left is where I will spend the last hour in my District, with my family. One of the Peacekeepers grunts roughly, and gestures for the others to leave us be. The one on my left starts, raising a hand to protest, but the other turns and stares him down, and soon it is only Sash and I left in the high-ceilinged room. His hand comes to rest on my shoulder, strong and unyielding, and I flashback to Bella's firm grip and soft eyes. _"I can take it, Santeena. I can take it for you." _She'd been whipped horribly for the offense, twenty lashes that opened up her sun-tanned skin and her blood had spilled freely onto the stone floor of the factory. Her screams had echoed through the building, and it was _my fault, my fault, my fault_. I clamp my eyes shut at the memory, and clench my teeth against the scream that's bubbling up in _my_ throat. _Stay strong, Santeena, _ I remind myself. _You made a fool of yourself at the Reapings. Don't make it worse now. Imagine if you did this at the Interviews! _On second thought, I probably will, though. I wouldn't put it past myself.

"Thanks," I manage to get out, and Sash gives me another smile- not the flashy, easy-going grin he gives to the cameras, but a real one, full of light and radiant hope.

"Anytime, Santeena Paige. You're a strong girl, and I am honored to be your District partner."

At that, I feel the all too familiar stain of red spread across my cheekbones. Sash just laughs, no malice or judgment at all in his tone, and gives me one last wave as he heads up the stairs. I stay on the ground floor a moment longer though, and watch as he vanishes behind the rail, the _click_ of the door to the visiting room closing behind him.

Then I turn my attention back towards the stairs on my side of the room and begin climbing.

o0o

**Sash Radcliffe (16)**

One moment I'm on top of the world, and the next I'm falling. The crowd is death-still, shocked into silence. My name. It's my name that's been called. I force another breath out, past my numb lips, and realize I've tensed up against a blow that will never, physically, land. So I ordered my muscles to relax. To unclench. Conjure the illusion of bright stage lights, imagine Rollag's voice- unbroken, unhindered- soaring to the rafters of this stage I've dreamt up. I toss my head in the way I know the crowd loves, hanging on to a string of familiarity. _When the world falls down around you, _Rollag once confided, _stick to what you know. _What I know is the thrum of a guitar beneath my fingertips, the roar of the crowd, and the high of performing. That's what the Hunger Games have to be. A performance. A show. One that I can walk away from, breath still in my lungs and heart still beating in my chest. _Familiarity. What do I know?_ The basics, I need to remember the basics. Breathing. Walking. Simple things, things we do every day and have taken for granted, _that_ is what I need to focus on. One step. Then another. Towards the stage. Towards where I have practically lived my whole life. Familiar. A commotion breaks out in my footsteps, but is quickly settled. I reach the stairs. _Don't look back. Don't look down. Look up. Out. Keep your mind in the present. Keep it organized. _I ascend the first step. _What do you know?_ Another step. _I know the feeling of the stage. I know how it is to have hundreds of eyes upon me._ I reach the platform. _Familiarity. _I summon up a smile. Shake the Escort's hand. Dip my head to my District partner. And then we're facing the crowd, hands interlocked, and as our Escort announces our names, one more time, my eyes sweep over the crowd. _Look up. Look out._

…

We're led to the Justice Building. A monstrous tower of a place, looming over everything else in the District, blocking the sun. I shudder as I enter its shadow. Beside me, Santeena has her gaze fixed squarely ahead. Her shoulders rise and fall evenly, with shallow, consistent breaths. They speed up as we walk in through the double doors, and she's nearly hyperventilating. The Peacekeeper, who has laid a hand on her shoulder, looks vaguely concerned and looks over at me helplessly. I pin him with a flat, unimpressed look that I've seen Stygia give Capitolite reporters enough times that I've been able to pick up on it. He drops his gaze and his hand, and I cross the few feet separating me from Santeena and place both hands on her shoulders. She looks up at me, and her expressive eyes are filled with tears.

"Hey, you," I smile, and a blush flares across her cheeks before she answers.

"Hey."

I give her arm a reassuring squeeze, partly because she needs it almost as much as I do, and also because I'm not quite sure what to say from here. After a second of debating, I settle on, "I need you to be strong for me, okay?" I get a shaky nod in response, and figure it's better than tears. "You're a brave girl," I tell her, and that seems to help. She squares her shoulders beneath my fingers, and another grin winds its way across my face. "You and me, we're strong," I continue, and a small smile in answer to mine flits across her lips. I stand, and she looks up at me. "We were not made to be broken."

…

The band files in, one by one. Stitch wipes at his nose and sniffs a bit, and Stygia's makeup is running, like she'd been absolutely bawling a few moments earlier. Loom's hair is tangled and wild around her head, not unlike a bird's nest as she enters the room, carding a hand through it for what must be the millionth time. No one speaks for a moment. We just all stand there in a shocked sort of silence, looking at each other. I use the time to take in the soft brown of Loom's eyes, the paleness of Stygia's skin. I commit the set of Stitch's jaw and the broadness of Rollag's shoulders to memory, searing them into my mind, into my heart.

"Do you really have to go, Sash?" Stygia asks, like we all don't already know the answer.

I nod.

"You'll come back though, right?" Loom demands, and I nod again, even as I realize that the promise is already broken. I don't stand a chance in the Arena- not against Districts 1 and 2, even with their long-standing rivalry. Seeing the tributes they put forth for the Games, I wouldn't be surprised if my killing turned into a sick competition between them- who can kill the bassist first.

Loom purses her lips together, blinking fast and steps forward to wrap her arms around me. "Don't cry," I protest into her shoulder, and Loom just laughs, her calloused fingers holding my own in a death grip as she steps back. Stygia is next, and for as much as she claims to despise physical contact, the hug she gives me is even longer than Loom's. Stitch insists that I hug _him_ one more time, which leads to another round of slightly tearier embraces than the last, and one final group hug before the Peacekeepers start banging on the door.

And then they're gone again, vanishing out the door in a single file line, Stygia throwing me one last smile over her shoulder as if to tell me things will be alright. Too soon, it's only me and Rollag left in the room. My boyfriend looks at me with silver in his eyes, and he doesn't even have to open his arms before I'm in them, burying my face in his shoulder. His hand strokes up and down my back, meant to soothe but do nothing to calm the racing of my heart. I swallow hard, tugging my lip between my teeth and trying so hard _not to damn cry. _I pull back to keep the embarrassingly large tear stain on Rollag's shirt won't get any bigger, and glance up at him. The afternoon light silhouettes him against the red silks and velvets of the room. He leans down and kisses me. I meet him halfway and we stay like that for a while- time spiraling away in favor of the soft pressure of lips on lips, the sweet slide of tongue against tongue.

"One more time," I promise against my boyfriend's lips. "One last show."

o0o

**Santeena Paige (13)**

Aleeya Paige is the first person to walk into the room. She says nothing as she gently shuts the door behind her, cracked hands soft on my skin as she pulls me close. We stand there for a few minutes, and I lay my head on her shoulder, soaking up the comfort that she provides.

"I don't want to go, mom," I tell her, muffling my words in her neck.

"I know, honey," she answers quietly, and strokes her free hand through my hair, her other arm still gripping me tight. "I know." That's all we say for a while more, and our only movement is when she guides us over to the couch. She sits down and I curl up in her arms like a comma. I remember that I used to do this as a small girl, and she would rock me back and forth at night and croon lullabies in my ear as a storm raged outside our window. Now, there is no storm, and the sun is bright, not a single cloud in the sky. The only storm here is the one inside my own head. Distantly, I realize that I'm crying again, but it's drowned out by the sound of my mother singing an old lullaby in my ear, the words as familiar as the beat of my heart.

…

Once my mother is gone, her soft words lingering in the room behind her, Ibraheem and Raheed appear in the doorway. Usually, the sight of my brother would fill me with some form of indignant protest, unemployed as he is, laying around at home and complaining about the lack of company, but now I feel nothing. Some form of numbness has spread over me, taking over from the tips of my fingers to the bottoms of my feet. I just _exist_, and I don't know if I'm awake or if I'm in some lucid dream. Nothing feels real anymore, and all I can remember is my mother's voice singing me to sleep. It's like I'm seeing the world in black and white, and I don't know what color is anymore. Raheed steps forward and wraps a tentative arm around me, and I let him. Right now, I can't care less about feeling indignant and him being a spoiled brat. All that matters now is that he's here and he's supporting me. My father joins us soon enough, engulfing both of us in his large embrace.

"I don't want you to go, Sateena," Raheed whispers, and I hear my own whisper underlying his. _I don't want to go._ But the words stick in my throat, and try as I might, they don't budge. So I just nod and pull my little brother close. This half-hour is all we'll have left together. I won't ever see them again, and even in this half-state, I know it. I'm not coming back.

Time slips by all too quickly. Few words pass between us, and Ibraheem and Raheed are rising to leave before I know it.

"Wait!" I call after them, and my father turns, hand on the doorknob. "Don't go!"

"I don't want too." Ibraheem Paige answers softly.

I can only watch in tear-streaked silence as my father and brother walk out. Watch as the door closes behind them, with a final, death-soft _snick._

o0o

**A/N: *Screams into the void***

**Hello everyone! It's been… a long time. *Peeks at the last updated tab and cringes* About a month. Over a month. *looks at other author's note and dies inside just a little bit* I'm not all the way dead, though! It's just been a bit of a rough ride and I've been hanging on as best I can. Anyway, another thing that was slightly embarrassing: I lost this whole chapter and had to rewrite it. I remember most of what I had in the original, but this is different. Sorry if you liked the old version better :( Anywho, I present you with Sash Radcliffe and Santeena Paige, submitted by ShippingGoddess56 and dsalazz!**

_**Trivia: Name the five members of **_** The Mortal Instruments. **_**Bonus points (5) if you can name the instrument/role they play within the band.**_

**Over, out, and may the odds be ever in your favor!**

**-SetFires (Vixen)**


	10. District 9- We Dance to Siren Songs

Chapter 9: We Dance to the Sound of Sirens

**Scythe Tonium (17)**

_"But I got stronger, I got harder in the nick of time_

_Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time_

_I've got a list of names and yours are in red, underlined_

_I check it once, then I check it twice, oh…"_

_~Look What You Made Me Do (Taylor Swift)_

_"How's the meeting?"_

A hiss of air escapes through my clenched teeth. Summoning a smile that's one hundred percent forced onto my face, I beam at my reflection in the pristine mirror. "It's amazing. Everything is going _great_." A beat of silence echos down the line. I hold the smile for another thirty seconds, before saying screw it and dropping the facade. "I want to murder everyone."

_"Don't get blood on your dress. We have dinner reservations at seven."_

Glancing down at my midnight gown, I let out a small snort. Like blood would even show up on this thing. "Love you for enabling me, darling." I purr into the phone, before I pull the device in question away from my ear, smash the red button at the bottom of the screen, and drop it unceremoniously face down on the porcelain countertop. Fucking politics. As the daughter of the woman once known as Skyra Tonium, now called Valkyrie Summers, I hold a powerful position in the pecking order and power chain of District 9. Yes, controversy surrounds everything I do and every move I make, but really, how is that any different than any other person in a position of power? Granted, my rise was not as grand as others and by far one of the least respected and supported, but I have managed to prove myself through hard work and willingness to sacrifice. Grimacing at the feeling of cold metal against my spinal cord, I heave in a long breath, blowing out through my nose. Sacrifice indeed. My phone chirps from the counter beside me and I flip it over to see what the text says.

_Love you too ;)_

Rolling my eyes, I pocket the device and stalk out of the bathroom. The Justice Building smells like new carpet and window cleaner, the antiseptics punching into my nose and through my sinuses. I bite down hard on my gag reflex and continue on my way.

Seven doors, five windows, and one sterile hallway later I ease back into the meeting room, locking the door behind me. Four pairs of eyes stare balefully back at me. I frown. "Is there something that is not acceptable with a woman having to use the ladies' room to relieve herself?" Sliding into the role of a diplomat is almost as easy as it is to brush my hair over one shoulder to provide easy access to the blade sheathed down the groove of my spine, concealed by the jacket of a high-ranking figure among our District as well as the long waves of my ebony hair.

"It is not acceptable to leave without permission from a meeting of this level of importance." Counters a woman sitting at the far end of the table.

"And you are not a woman," scorns the man on my left. I arch a disbelieving eyebrow in his direction. "My apologies." I incline my head to the grey-haired woman on the opposite side of the table. "It was an emergency." To the man who had spoken to me in such a disrespectful manner, I say, "And, with all due respect, I am as much of a woman as your son is a man. Simply because he identifies as of the masculine gender does not mean he is any more capable or as mature as I or any other of the female race. I will turn 18 in a few weeks. If we must postpone this session until then, then I will comply as needed." The words drip off my tongue like honey-drenched steel, and the dagger hidden against my backbone seems to quiver ever so lightly- begging to be used, to be handled, to be buried hilt-deep in the spasming body beneath it. I wrinkle my nose. What a terrible comparison. Now it just sounds like a horny teenager. Despite I myself being a teenager. But I would prefer to think that I keep such impulses in check and do not think solely with my desires and passions. Besides, men... aren't really my type anyway.

"This meeting has been put off as long as possible." Snaps another voice, this one to my right. "No matter the state of Miss Tonium's status, we must continue."

I grit my teeth. Fuck status. Fuck status, fuck meetings and fuck everyone here. Actually, no, not such a good idea. Men. Ew. Breathe in. Breathe out. Count to fucking ten. Ha. Everything about anger management and control dives out the window as my fury explodes in a red-hot ball of defiance and hurt, and disbelief. The dagger hidden against my calf is already flying by the time I straighten, it's lodged deep in the chest of the man who had previously spoken.

o0o

**Jordan Wheaton (16)**

_"I'm under the weather, but the wind isn't blowin' _

_I got an umbrella for difficult moments_

_You got to admit, I'm very devoted_

_I'm out in the rain, but it don't always open so I…"_

_~Leave Me Alone (NF)_

Never let it be said that I, Jordan Wheaton, am a slacker. I've been up at the asscrack of dawn to work in the fields, muscles working as I scythe through stalk of wheat after stalk of wheat, and once I'm done with one section, I turn around and do it all again. Others will be here to pick up everything I don't. I just need to finish my part early, so I can get back home to ma and pops and my six siblings. My youngest brother, Calen, is only three years old, and ma and pops need time to deal with their own jobs and lives and not have to take care of a plaintive three-year-old who wants a honey-cake. That's where I come in. I wake up and go off to work at 4:00 in the morning just so I can get back in time for the morning meal and can play with Calen, along with Anthony and Kayla. The twins, Destiny and Fate, can take care of themselves. Taking care of themselves usually in front of our old TV and DVD player and watching and rewatching again the only three movies we have, which have covers too faded for any of us to read. They gush about how hot certain actors and characters are, about how awesome this one is or how cute that one guy looked when he shot three arrows at once into a big elephant-like-thing's skull. Last but not least is Diamond. Diamond, who has helped me through the constant lashings in the fields. Diamond, who patiently sat by my bedside, even when she was a small child, and soothed the pain from the scars on my back. Diamond, who selflessly gave everything she was out in the fields and never expected anything more than her fair wage in return. She doesn't come out here until afternoon, with all the other women. I can usually sneak in a few hours with her, where we just sit in comfortable silence or she taps out a beat on her set of hollowed-out gords and I sing to the rhythm.

Standing up, I reach my arms over my head in a long stretch, before depositing my bundles in the barrel and grab my portions from the box. No one else is up this early, but there are security cameras and a strict count of portions before everyone leaves so that no one will be tempted to take more than his fair share. Slinging my scythe over one shoulder and humming a jaunty little tune under my breath, I stroll back along the backroads of District 9 to reach our small, rickety place on the edge of the outskirts of 9. I stop at the District well on the way back to pick up a couple of gallons of water that we'll need for the morning. Diamond brings the afternoon portion back with her when she returns from her own work at the fields and father supplies the rest later that evening. After I slip in the door and set the water jugs down, I tiptoe to my brothers' rooms. My mother, already up and at our worn stove, waves at me kindly as I go, and I smile back before I wake my brothers.

"Psst," I whisper, gently shaking Calen's shoulder. "Wakey wakey." Calen just grunts and rolls over, but Anthony is sitting up, rubbing at his eyes.

"Mornin'" he mumbles sleepily. "I'll get Cal'n 'wake," he continues. "You go and do whate'er it is you go do. Go see your girlfriend or whatever."

Despite my best efforts, I still flush a hot red. "She's not my girlfriend," I mutter.

"Yeah, sure she's not." Anthony says skeptically.

I throw my hands up. "I'm out." Turning, I stalk out of the room, Anthony's still sleep-rough voice making kissing noises at me all the way down the hall.

…

When I'm outside again, I run a hand through mt short hair and stare up at the sky. "Why?" I ask mournfully. "Why are my brothers this way?" The sky, being the sky, gives no response. I shrug and hop off the porch and set off at a brisk walk. I'm not quite sure where I'm going, but I always like having a purpose in life, and if I feel like I'm making some progress, that's enough for me. As I stroll, I start humming another song under my breath again, some old thing I heard while the names of people long gone scroll across our TV screen and beautiful sketches of towers and birds and ships flow across the screen. I'm so engrossed in the song I'm now quietly singing and the stretches of prairie before me that I almost miss her.

o0o

**Scythe Tonium (17)**

"What are you thinking about?"

"Hmm?" I glance up from where I'm spearing a piece of egg on my fork. My girlfriend, Harley, is leaning back against the granite countertop, arms crossed over her chest, pixie-blonde hair pulled into her custom two pigtails, tips dyed a wild, electric green. She was originally from the Capitol, her mother was the previous escort of District 9. Harley had been a trouble-maker from the start and somehow had ended up being ditched here. Neither of us had any complaints.

"What're you thinking about?" she repeated, in that faux-innocent voice of hers.

"Just how to take over the world," I answer, completely straight-faced.

"Oh good," Harvey observes cheerfully. "I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you." She giggles before her expression stills back into seriousness. "But really. How are you feeling?"

I give a nonchalant shrug. "I feel fine. Why wouldn't I?"

"You just murdered four people."

"I've done it before."

Harley rolls her eyes and saunters over, loosely draping her arms over the back of my chair, resting her chin on my shoulder. "And I've had to pick the pieces of you up off the floor and glue them back together. Are you sure you're alright?"

I stare meditatively at my eggs. They stare meditatively back. She's right, in her own way. I crossed-off some high-level politicians a few years ago and Harley found me sobbing my ass off in an alley about three blocks from home. A month or two after that, I eliminated a rising tide of protesters with a single, well-placed bullet. I had woken up on our couch, with Harley standing over me, pissed to hell and back. This was the third time. Third time's the charm, isn't that how the saying goes? Harley has been doing this kinda stuff for years- she played a key part in her mother's crusade, the mastermind behind the strategy. The marksman behind every kill shot. She's the only thing that had gotten me through my murder sprees. "No," I answer truthfully and stuff the eggs into my mouth. Harley just nods, before backing off and hopping back up on the counter. She watches me eat with that hawk-like focus of hers, and when I turn to meet her blue gaze, she stares straight back at me without blinking. Finally, I cast my eyes back down to my plate. Swallowing hard, I inhale deeply and let it out on a shaky breath. "I've killed seven people, Harley. Seven."

Harley shrugs. "If you're Reaped this year you're going to have to kill more. I won't be there to watch over you after you pass out."

I stop. I hadn't thought about the Reaping. And now that she brought it up, I suddenly realize that the Reaping is indeed today. And if I am selected to go into the Games... Harley's right. I need to harden my heart against the death cry of my fellow human beings, against the sightless eyes and gaping mouths and gushing blood. Harley did it. I can do it too.

Glancing at the clock, I nod slightly and turn to look my girlfriend straight in the eye. "Teach me," I tell her. "We have five hours. Show me how."

o0o

**Jordan Wheaton (16)**

"Hey, Jordan," she greets me, the light bouncing and reflecting off her glasses in the most bizarrely beautiful way I've ever seen. "What's up with you?" Oh, god. Her eyes.

"H-hey, Aaliyah." I force out. Relax. "I'm doing fine. What about you?" Good. Deep breaths. In. Out. _Get yourself under control, Wheaton._

She grins, and her smile lights up the whole world. "I'm doing fine too, thanks for asking! How's the twins?"

A real, genuine laugh creeps out of me. This, I can talk about. "Good. They're cooing over Legolas, though."

Aaliyah wrinkles her nose in a more adorable way then I thought possible. "Haven't they been doing that since they were like, ten?"

"I know," I agree. "He steals all the girls."

She grins with me, shaking her head. "I'm more of an Aragorn girl, myself."

"Totally." I nod. "If I were a girl, I would be so jealous of Arwen."

She laughs again, a bright, brilliant sound, and an impulse suddenly strikes me from out of nowhere, watching her as if in slow motion. The way her eyes crinkle at the corners, the way she tosses her head back in genuine amusement and joy, how she smiles with all of her being, honest and real. Tell her. A voice whispers. Tell her how you feel. Confess. Lay it out at her feet. Show her. What if something at the Reapings goes wrong? What if something happens to you? Or to her? I sigh internally, sucking a tooth in thought. No. What if she rejects me? What if she just laughs in my face and scorns me for wanting something I can never have? Somewhere deep inside, I know Aaliyah would never do that. But I can't help it. I've seen the girls reject so many suitors that I've grown wary of asking the girl of my dreams to be mine. So I bite my tongue and continue to grin with Aaliyah. Because for now, we're just friends. And friends are all we can be.

…

The town square is crowded once my family gets there. After thoroughly enjoying a meal of rare, honeyed biscuits, we'd immediately started walking. Diamond, my parents and I, had all taken turns carrying Calen, and when we reached our destination, the twins and I hugged our parents' goodbye and went to join the rest of our peers, milling about the square. Instinctively, my eyes seek out Aaliyah, laughing with another girl with bleached blonde hair from the sun pulled back into pigtails with bright green dyed tips. After a moment, she catches my eye and waves. I wave back, grinning like a doofus, and continue on my way to my selected spot. I manage to tune out our trilling escort, Glitter Yrene, right up until she calls out the female tribute's name. The whole District goes still. Scythe Tonium. Everyone, if you're anyone, knows her name. She's the daughter of the Head Gamemaker, Valkyrie Summers. A powerful political figure. Talented with a blade, as well as her words. She knows how to get what she wants, and if she doesn't get it, she takes it. She may seem sophisticated and polite, but on the inside, she's a monster. A complete savage. These thoughts are only proven further by the way she glides up to the stage without even so much as a glance at her fellow peers. Just a sly smirk playing at the edges of her mouth, a disgusted glare for the escort and her extended hand. She takes up a sassy, defiant position at her end of the stage. The two Victors, Harvest Moon and Ethan Petersen are studying her concernedly. Ethan leans over and mutters something to Harvest, who just rolls her eyes and punches him lightly in the shoulder. Flustered, Glitter hustles to our side of the stage and pounces on the first slip of paper she can find.

"Jordan Wheaton!"

And once again, the District goes so silent you could hear a pin drop. I know that my name is well recognized throughout our District. I just never thought… I shake my head. That train of thought won't help me now. Now, my life is in the balance of life and death. And only God knows how this will end. _Well, Lord,_ I think ruefully. _My life is in your hands. Will my family survive without me? Maybe I can get someone to send them food if I fight really well in the Arena. Who will get the berries and water now? Poor mama, poor pops. I'll find a way to help them. _And with that thought securely in mind, I lift my head and start to walk.

o0o

**Scythe Tonuim (17)**

Well, fuck, is the first thing that crosses my mind. Then, thank the gods I asked Harley when I did. My name hit the crowd like a thunderclap, It visibly slammed into a few people and they stumbled back a step, blinking in shock. A grim smile twists its way across my mouth. I bet that half of these people forgot I was only seventeen. Pursing my lips, I refuse to glance behind me to see Harley, to gauge her reaction and draw strength from her sure steely expression and carefully guarded reaction. Straightening my back, I draw myself up tall and start for the stage with the same cool and poise I display for a political meeting. When I reach the stairs, I take them one at a time, keeping my head high and letting a scornful gaze sweep out over the crowd. Head up, shoulders back, spine straight. I had to become the very picture of a prideful, cocky tribute, a girl who already knows she's going to win. I shoot an unimpressed look down at the escort's outstretched hand and breeze right over to my spot, hand on a cocked hip and my head tilted at a saucy angle. Come and get me, I dare the crowd. Glitter looks flustered, and she hurries over to the boy's Reaping bowl. I barely glance at the other boy who makes his way up on stage- olive-skinned and well-muscled- before I'm swept off to the familiar arches and looming pillars of the Justice Building.

"This way, Miss," a Peacekeeper tells me, and I narrow my eyes at him, tossing my hair back over my shoulder in one fluid motion, and snap, "I know my way around here, thank you." He looks slightly taken aback, and I huff indignantly, and sweep ahead, leading them to the visiting room. Before I slam the door in their faces, I whisk around, give them a too-sweet smile, and coo, "Later, boys!" and proceed to bang the door shut.

…

Harley flounces in, pigtails bobbing behind her, mouth stretched in a too-wide smile. A silver chain dangles loosely from her pale fingers, and she plops down on the couch beside me. "So," she chirps, about as much pep in her voice as there would be in a cow, "I see you got Reaped!"

I scrub a hand over my eyes. "Har, I don't need this right now."

Harley puts her hand on my shoulder, gripping me tightly. "Hey, calm down. You're not gonna be alright, I won't lie to you. But you can make it out of this alive. Be that one. Beat the odds. You know how to handle that knife of yours. How to protect yourself in a fight. Use that knowledge. Get better. Remember what I told you."

Gulping, I nod. Train. Think. Play it smart. I can do that. That's something I know how to do. Harley swings off the couch and crouches in front of me, reaching up with both hands to clasp the silver chain around my neck. The crystal shard thuds back against my collar as she releases it. I glance down at the smooth, light blue surface of the gem and then back up at Harley. Her smile this time is twisted and grim, as she rises to her feet. "Your problem is the burden that killing puts upon your shoulders," she instructs. "You need to figure out how to shrug it off and put it behind you. Don't let anything hold you back."

I meet her eyes and nod. Harley nods back, before turning and striding out the door, dyed tips swishing as she goes. There is no 'I love you' or 'Stay safe' to end our parting. But neither of us has ever really been the sentimental type. I take the little crystal gem in hand and stare down at it, fingering the smooth surface. I have to listen to Harley. Put everything behind me. Harden my heart and ignore those little nagging whispers in the back of my head. They're weak. Cowardly. They will not help me here. My name is Scythe Tonium, and from now on, nobody will drag me down.

o0o

**Jordan Wheaton (16)**

"Jordan?" My mother's voice cracks halfway through my name as she stumbles into the room. My father comes in after her, and all my siblings pour in after him. The twins are wide-eyed and are looking shocked, Anthony is quietly staring at his toes, Diamond is blinking back tears, and Calen is trembling in my father's arms, looking from face to face as if to find some semblance of reassurance somewhere. Anywhere. When he meets my eyes, I offer him a small smile, and he immediately chirrups at me and kicks until my dad sets him down, before wobbling over to me. I scoop him up in my arms and bop him on the nose, a small smile sliding over my features as he giggles. A half sob slips out of my mom as she comes over and takes my free hand in both of hers, before bowing her head in prayer. When her voice gives out, my father takes over, smoothly rumbling the worship and plea to a finish. He shakes my hand, then, and slides a heavy ring onto my finger. 2013 NBA Finals Champions is stamped in bold letters, imprinted with a flaming ball. "This ring has been passed down to the oldest male of each generation once they reach adulthood," my father tells me. "And now I pass it on to you." I nod in thanks before Anthony runs over and throws his arms around my waist.

"Jordan," he asks, staring up at me, "Jordan, when will you be back?" I only shake my head at him as Fate and Destiny nudge him aside to take his place, and I can see silver lining their eyes. Diamond gently takes Calen from me and hands him to mom before hugging me tight, resting her cheek on my shoulder. She doesn't say anything, just blinks back tears when I slowly disengage and go over to kiss Calen on the forehead one last time.

…

Aaliyah glides in next, and her presence hits me like a suckerpunch to the gut.

"A-Aaliyah?" I choke out. "What-why-when?"

She took off her glasses at some point, so her chocolate brown eyes are unobscured. She shrugs. "I figured you wouldn't want to spend the rest of your time here alone."

My breath catches. "Aaliyah, you didn't have-" and then she's kissing me. Actually kissing me. My brain short-circuits. What? This can't be happening. Is she kissing me out of pity? Out of remorse? Out of actual affection and attraction? But the first two don't seem anything like the Aaliyah I grew up knowing. So is she actually-

"This is the part," she murmurs teasingly against my lips, "Where you stop overthinking so damn much and kiss me back."

So I do.

When we break apart to catch our breaths, I stare dumbstruck at Aaliyah. "Was that- did you- did we-"

"Yes," Aaliyah laughs, "Yes, Jordan, we did."

"So you-"

"Yes, Jordan," she repeats. "I like you. As more than just a friend." Reaching up on her toes, she gives me one more kiss, soft and lingering. "I'll see you when you get back home, Jordan."

After she's gone, I reach up to touch my lips. Awed. Astonished. In love. 'I'll see you when you come back home.' I hope I make it back. To help my family. And for Aaliyah. Please- let me make it back for her. Maybe I'll prove everyone wrong. Our race has been mistreated so long, that maybe… maybe it's finally time I show them what we can do.

o0o

**A/N: I am proud to have introduced you to our wonderful, slightly bloody, tributes of District 9: Scythe Tonium and Jordan Wheaton, by ShippingGoddess56 and Luthien'sLight! Victors Stardust Moonglade (D5) and Ethan Petersen (D9) were submitted by request by StardusttheKillerQueen. ****Now, I personally don't think that last bit with Jordan was the best kissing scene I've ever written, but I wanted to spit this out now, because if I don't do something to interact with the outside world I'm going to actually go insane! Why? Coronavirus! (Honestly, I'm not going to start a rant or anything about it on here, but it's caused everyone some disappointment by now, ya know?) Have an amazing rest of your day/night, and may the odds be ever in your favor!**

_**Trivia: What does Scythe ask Harley to teach her at the end of her 2nd POV? (You're going to have to actually use brains for this, just a few of them, the answer is not directly in the story.)**_

**-SetFires (Vixen)**


	11. District 10- We Could Be Heroes

**Sierra Encantada (14)**

_"Out of the darkness and into the sun_

_But I won't forget the ones that I love_

_I'll take a risk, take a chance, make a change_

_And breakaway…"_

_~Breakaway (Kelly Clarkson)_

My hair whips out behind me in the wind as I lean over my stallion's neck. "Faster, Tempest," I whisper into his ear. "Faster." He whinnies at me, as if to say, _this is as fast as I can go, bossy_, but I feel his muscles bunching as he springs forward, long legs stretching and eating up ground as we gallop towards the horizon. It's become routine by now. Every day before the Reaping, I'll go out for a ride, alone, with a spread of food and eat out on the fields and run my stallion to the edge of the District. I'll make it back in time to make sure Tempest is all settled in, before heading to the Reapings. It's a good tension reliever for me, as well as my family- they don't need me fluttering around the house in a worried hurricane all the time.

Once I reach the flat grasslands of Eleven and see the watchtowers looming ahead of me, I reign Tempest in. He snorts as I dismount and shakes his mane, clopping in place and I unload the food from my saddlebags. As I lay my breakfast out, he swings his head around and huffs air at me. With a smile, I reach back into the saddlebag and pull out a handful of carrots and some sugar cubes. After he's had his fill, he nuzzles at my palm, and I grin at him before sitting down to enjoy my own meal.

As I munch away on an apple, my thoughts turn to my last boyfriend. Shepard was nice- he really was, but once, at dinner, Kit had made an offhand comment about something he didn't like about Shepard. I had broken up with him the next day. Because of Kit. Ah, Kit. My one real love and the boy who made my heart hurt. But Kit is engaged to my cousin- my own cousin- Julia, and they are happily together. I won't ruin that for them. I'm not that selfish. I love Julia enough that I want her to be happy- I love Kit, enough. As long as he's happy, I can find some good in the world to live for.

Once that thought crosses my mind, I latch onto it, pin it down, and peer at it. Am I really? Would I be willing to risk my life for them? For Julia? For… Kit?_ Yes. _My own mind answers immediately. _Yes, you would. _I purse my lips. I… wasn't expecting that. The Hunger Games scare me. They _should_ scare everyone. But I know that I don't have a chance of survival unless I have powerful allies and learn how to be a better weapon handler. I'd die in the Bloodbath for sure. Or… would I? I'm fast. Yes, I do like to eat- food is amazing- but I'm not fat. I'm average-sized. I know I have my looks going for me- dark hair, tan skin, an angelic face with unusual aquamarine eyes- but I am actually fairly fast. If I ran… no. There is no reason for me to be thinking about this. No reason for me to be asking these questions. My name is in the Reaping bowl three times. Kit and Julia's are in four. I have nothing to worry about.

o0o

**Brandon Scorn (16)**

_"Had to have high, high hopes for a living_

_Shooting for the stars when I couldn't make a killing_

_Didn't have a dime, but I always had a vision_

_Had to have high, high hopes…"_

_~High Hopes (Panic! At the Disco)_

"Remind me why you're helping me with this again?" I glance over at Stephanie, my best friend, as she shoves her shovel into a pile of horse dung and flings it into a wheelbarrow, with unerring aim. "Everyone has the Reaping day off."

"Remind _me_ why you're working, and maybe you'll get an answer."

Steph rolls her eyes. "I'm working because my family needs the money, Brandon."

"I'm working because I want to keep you company," I answer promptly. Stephanie actually laughs at that. She shakes her head, a small smile playing across her lips. "I'm serious!" I protest, only to back away quickly as she comes up with her shovel poised and ready to cannon a crap ton (pun intended) of, well, _crap_, at my face.

'Whatever, Brandon," she smirks, and goes back to shoveling horse poo. After a few moments of working in companionable silence, when the only sounds are the rasp of our breathing and the _shuff, clank, whump_ of shoveling, she says, "Thanks, Brandon."

I grin at her over my shoulder. "Yeah, no problem. I know you guys need the money, nothing wrong with getting in a few extra hours, even on Reaping day."

Stephanie smiles a little, nods before her expression turns sober. "Who do you think will be Reaped today?" she asks quietly. I shrug. I've never put a whole lot of thought into the Games. There's barely any chance that I'm the one whose name gets called- so why should I? Watching people die their gruesome, glorious deaths on live television isn't exactly my definition of fun, thank you very much.

"I don't really think about it," I answer honestly. "I mean, I do watch the Games- we have to- but I don't pay attention all that much. I just zone out and try not to think about all those poor tributes, dying." It's really sad, now that I come to think about it. Sad that all those kids are dying meaningless deaths at the hands of other kids. The previous Victor, Anshar Vesper, is said to have been permanently scarred- not physically, but mentally- from the whole ordeal. Some tabloids say he wakes up screaming at night, reaching out for the emerald-eyed boy from District 4, whom he shot through the neck with his crossbow. God. I hope none of us have to be put in that situation. I'd rather try to survive in the wild than hunt and kill.

o0o

**Sierra Encantada (14)**

The gongs are still ringing in my ears as I make my way through the milling citizens of 10 and slide into place with the other fourteen-year-olds. My Reaping outfit is nothing special- a red dress with white dots, with a red handkerchief, tucked into the breast pocket. Compared to some of the older kids, it's downright drab. With an internal shrug, I focus back on the raised platform where our Escort, a bright-eyed man with golden hair that cascades over one shoulder, is explaining, for the twenty-sixth time, why the Games are so important. I shift nervously from side to side, glancing left to right. The majority of our District is twitching, and when Lenlas' monologue finally draws to a close, you could hear a pin drop as he strides over to the girls' Reaping Bowl, and delicately extracts a slip of paper from its companions.

"Ladies first," he purrs into the microphone, before smoothing out the paper and reading out in a clear, strong voice, "Julia Encandata!"

I freeze in place. Julia? As in Julia, _my cousin_ Julia? I twist around, desperate to find her, and there she is. Making her way towards the stage with a petrified expression on her face and a single tear working its way down her cheek. She mounts the platform and shakes Lanlas' hand with a shaky smile. "Hello, Julia." He smiles kindly. Then, he turns to the crowd. "Do we have any Volunteers?" And the words leave my mouth before I've even had time to process what I'm saying.

_"I Volunteer as tribute!"_

Julia gapes at me as I shove through my peers to reach the stage. "I Volunteer," I repeat breathlessly. "I Volunteer as a tribute for the 26th Hunger Games."

"Sier-" Julia starts, but I cut her off with a shake of my head.

"Live a good life," I tell her. I can feel the tears welling in my eyes and don't bother to force them back. So what? Let them see. Let the Capitol see what they have done. How they split families and lovers and friends apart and rip them away from one another. See how they make children cry. "Be happy." I manage to get out through my tears. "Be happy, Julia."

o0o

Brandon Scorn (16)

Oof. That's all I can think as the young girl throws herself towards the stage, the desperate cry leaving her lips a certain death sentence. "I Volunteer as tribute!" Tears are openly streaming down her face as she climbs the steps and takes her place next to our young escort.

"What's your name?" he asks her gently.

"S-Sierra." She answers shakily. "My name is Sierra Encandata."

"Was that your sister who just got called up a few moments ago?"

"No." Sierra puts her chin up, a determined gesture if I ever saw one. "She's my cousin. And I love her enough to let her live her life to its fullest extent."

Lenlas only inclines his golden head in a nod, before stalking over to our Reaping bowl. "Now for the boys." He announces somberly, before striding back to his podium and flattening out the piece of paper. The name doesn't really sink in at first. Just a jumbled collection of syllables and noises. Nothing important. Nothing related to me. And at first, I think I'm safe, at least for this Reaping. I think I'll be okay. Until someone gives me a nudge back into reality, and that's when my name echoes around inside my skull.

Brandon. Brandon Scorn. My name. Called to be a tribute for the 26th Hunger Games. Me. Sent to sure death in that death trap they call an arena. To be stared at on-screen and judged and ranked and studied like a lab rat. Me. Brandon Scorn. Future tribute of District 10.

o0o

**Sierra Encantada (14)**

"Sierra!" Julia throws herself at me, tears in her eyes. After I had entered the Justice Building, I had wiped away my own- and despite my puffy red eyes, I was relatively calm, at least compared to Julia and my parents. They're all teary-eyed and Julia looks ready to bawl up a storm.

"Hey," I tell her gently, catching her weight and holding her close. "Hey, I'll be okay." Julia looks like she's about to start crying enough to create the eighth ocean, shaking her head. I grab her hand and look her dead in the eye. "I'll do my best to survive, Jul. I'll make alliances. I'll be smart. I won't die right away. Promise."

My mother is biting her lower lip, obviously trying not to cry, and even my steadfast father looks shaken. "We love you, Sierra." My mom says. I can only nod as Julia holds me, now sobbing into my shoulder.

…

When Kit walks in, I forget how to breathe.

"Thank you," is the first thing he says. Quietly. Sadly.

"You're welcome?" I respond hesitantly. "Jul is my cousin. I'd do anything for her."

Kit fixes me with that sharp, golden stare of his and holds me there, pinned like a piece of prey. "Why did you really Volunteer?"

Embarrassed, I glance down at the floor. "I wanted you and Julia to live a good life together. Have that spring wedding, have two or three kids, grow old together and lead a wonderful life."

Kit sighs. Lowering himself into a comforting chair, he braces his elbows on his knees and breaks his stare. "Julia and I… we split up. We're still on good terms, but… it just wasn't working for us."

Hope lifts its head in my heart and spreads feathered wings. Kit and Julia are no longer together? And Kit was no doubt attracted to Julia physically, and if he wanted someone else… someone who might look like her but still different… a different girl, someone he could love and cherish…

I force my mouth into a concerned frown, although it probably comes off as a grimace. "Oh. I'm sorry." And I am. I'm sorry for Julia for not getting this wonderful boy sitting before me, with his eagle eyes and sharp cheekbones and raptor-like focus.

Kit only nods. Then, he pulls a horseshoe out of his pocket and hands it to me. "For good luck."

The broad grin I'd been holding back now comes exploding across my face. "Thanks, Kit." I tell him, and wrap him up in a hug before I can stop myself.

o0o

**Brandon Scorn (16)**

My father, Steven, is the first to enter my visiting room. My mom, sister, and brother aren't long after. There are tears in everyone's eyes, and hugs are passed around the room. Goodbyes are exchanged and hands are held.

"We love you, Brandon." My mother says.

"You can do it, Brandon," My father tells me.

"Come back alive, Brandon," my siblings beg me.

But I know the odds of me getting out of that place alive are slim. 1/24, to be precise. But I have my wits and advice- if I play it smart and make the right kind of allies, maybe I'll survive a little longer than anyone expects. With this thought in mind, I do my best to reassure my weeping parents and distraught siblings. I can't promise that everything is fine, but I can promise that everything will be.

…

Stephanie is next in line. She's in my arms the moment she steps in the door.

"Hey," I stroke her hair. "Hey, don't cry."

"You idiot!" she blurts out. "Why did you have to go and get yourself Reaped, Brandon, you're my best friend."

"I'm sorry," I protest. "I didn't try to get Reaped, Steph, I promise."

"I don't care," she mutters into my chest.

A strangled laugh escapes my throat. "Steph, I'll be-"

"Don't tell me you'll be okay." she rebukes fiercely, looking up. "Don't lie to me, Brandon. Not now."

I dip my head in acknowledgment. "Okay," I respond reluctantly. And I find myself repeating the words for a second time, a mantra that echoes around inside my skull.

"I can't promise that everything is fine. But I _can_ promise that everything will be."

o0o

**A/N: Hello, everyone! And I'm back with another chapter, introducing the tributes of District 10! Sierra Encandata and Brandon Scorn, everyone! I know it's short, but I didn't feel like adding anything to the sections would do more help than harm. I do enjoy making sections uniform and all that, but I'm not going to write just to put words in paper, and rambling in the tribute's sections seemed wholly unfair. That being said, my apologies to sherazade96 and Team Shadow for not giving your tributes as much screen time. I don't blame any of you for finding this chapter unsatisfactory. (Also, if you can't tell by the disjointedness of this chapter, I'm a little burned out.) Chapter title is courtesy of David Bowie and his song **_**Heroes.**_

_**Trivia: Why did Sierra Volunteer instead of letting Julia go into the Games?**_

**Over and out, and may the odds be ever in your favor,**

**-SetFires (Vixen)**

**(P.S: Happy April Fool's Day!)**


	12. District 11- We Can Overcome This

Chapter 11: We Don't Bite Soft (We Bite Hard)

**Mic Klaus (14)**

_"Son of man, look to the sky_

_Lift your spirit, set it free_

_Someday you'll walk tall with pride_

_Son of man, a man in time you'll be…"_

_~Son of Man (Phil Collins)_

There's so much green. I smile briefly as I inhale the smells of the mountain forest. The woods have always been a fondness of mine, and I love wandering their depths and exploring all the different types of plants scattered around and growing in all kinds of places. They come in all different shapes and sizes and are intriguing and beguiling, as exotic as a Xanadu- a rare, scaled bird-like animal- and more colorful than the beak of the toucan. Not many people envision this tropical climate when thinking of District 11, but there are a lot of things that are unknown about my homeplace. With a swift, precautionary glance around, I delve further into the forest, looking for the telltale signs of Riverweed. As its name would suggest, this plant grows by the river- but it can only thrive in an environment like this, due to the lack of real moisture in the ground. Used to soothe infection and heal lesser cuts, Riverweed is a valuable resource and is almost always on my gathering list when I come out to the mountain every week. Despite the beauty of this place, a treacherous climb is required to reach it, and I have various scars all over my body from the earlier climbs.

Glancing to my left, I feel a grin split my face as I spot the signature waving fronds of my selected plant. I quickly make my way over to it and begin gently stripping it of its leaves and skillfully store them in one of the many leather pouches tethered to my belt. I'm so engrossed in my work that I almost drop the stem I'm stripping when the warning call of a Xanadu shatters my concentration. My head flies in that direction and I stare. A gorgeous red-scaled creature is hunched over on its back legs, front talons working at a berry bush. It's more bodily built than some of its brethren and the word dragon flits through my mind as I prepare to run. But as I'm about to back away, I recognize the bush it's cleaning berries from. Nightlock. I'm not sure how many berries it would take to kill this beautiful creature, but I do know that I can't live with its death on my conscience. A rock is in my hand and my arm is reared back, ready to throw and before I can fully decide against my actions, the rock is flying from my hand and it thuds into the stream not three feet from the colorful beast. The Xanadu's head swings up, and it stares at me for a moment, wings rustling as it sits up. It hisses at me, ears flattening against its head as it prowls towards me. A crash and a startled squawk grabs both of our attention for a moment- another bird has landed and snatched up several of the nightlock berries in its beak. "No!" I cry out to it, but it's too late. Halfway through a wingstroke, the poor thing begins to thrash and plummet, making horrible cawing sounds as it fitfully struggles against the poison slowly invading its system. It slams into the river with a splash, and both the Xanadu and I take an involuntary step back from where it vanished beneath the surface. It did not reappear. Slowly, the Xanadu lifted its head and swung my way, blinking a few times before fixing me with that reptilian stare. But as I tense, prepared to ward off an attack, futile as it may be, it only dips its head in my direction before turning and slithering off into the trees. As if it recognized the fact that I had just saved its life. As if it was saying thank you.

o0o

**Natalia 'Nat' Oakly (17)**

_"I tried to scream_

_But my head was underwater_

_They called me weak_

_Like I'm not just somebody's daughter…"_

_~everything i wanted (Billie Eilish)_

"No, mom, green and orange together are hideous!" I protest. My mother, Mady, smiles at me. "What do you suggest then, daughter?" Tilting my head, I study the spread of fabrics before me. "Green and gold," I decide. "Or that red we've got over there, red and green always compliment each other."

Nodding, my mother sets the bright fabric to the side and accepts the swath of fabric I hand her. The metallic, somber color of the gold contrasts beautifully with the poison green, and the black embroidery thread my mother is decorating or newest dress with goes perfectly with the other colors. "You should be a fashion designer, Nat," she had told me once, back when I had just completed my very first piece of clothing. I remember the proud smile that had crossed my face as if it had happened yesterday.

Now, as I stare down at the folds of river blue fabric in my lap, I can't help but wonder what life would've been like if Billie hadn't died. All I can remember about him is his bad jokes that always made me laugh, even when I was feeling down. What could we have been? What could we be now? I shake my head. The past is the past. I cannot change it. What I can change is my future. And I plan to. Becoming a successful… well, anything, means my mother and I can get out of this tiny, one-room apartment and find a home that can sustain a new life. A new family. Jacob, my mom's boyfriend, is a high ranking Peacekeeper, but even though he has a larger house and has a good status in 11, my mother doesn't want to barge in. She wants a new beginning, for the three of us alike. I'm so deep in thought that I'm not paying attention and my needle misses the fabric entirely and pierces my finger. Letting out a soft hiss of pain, I quickly set the needle down and reached for a scrap of spare cotton fabric I can use for a bandage. Before I can scoop one up, my mother glances over and immediately reaches out and grabs my arm. "Nat," she says gently. "Let's get that cleaned up and then it'll be time for the Reaping. I nod mutely, wincing at the throbbing spiraling out from the wound, and follow my mother.

…

The dress is beautiful. Simple, with a sweeping neckline and pleated skirts, and paired with the greek sandals Jacob gifted me with a year ago, I deem myself suitable to go to the Reapings and not make a complete fool out of myself. We meet Jacob briefly on our way into the town square, where my mother hugs me goodbye. "I'll see you soon," she promises. "Hopefully we'll make a good profit this year."

I nod. We always sell clothes after the Reaping, as a sort of celebration gift for those lucky enough to be safe for at least one more year. We also have a special selection of down-priced dark wear for those who mourn the loss of their child after these next few fateful hours.

Our Escort is new this year, but she still recites the words we've all heard again and again and again. But something about her strikes me. It's not her pale skin and silver eyes- though remarkable, she isn't anything unusual. It's the fact that there are tears in her eyes as she tells us about the failed rebellion, the masked anger in her voice as she speaks of the righteousness of the Capitol and how these Games are justice for the Districts- mercy, even.

It's almost enough not to make me dislike her for calling my name when she pulls that slip of paper from the Reaping bowl.

o0o

**Mic Klaus (14)**

The climb back down the mountain was more perilous than most, my mind still with the red Xanadu who I saved from death. But I made it back safely and was greeted warmly by Norman, an older Collecter who first taught me the difference between poppy seed and nettle seed. He smiles proudly as I show him my findings of the day, before sending me off to change for the Reaping. Laid out on my bed, I find an older cream-colored shirt and a pair of baggy pants. Nodding to myself, I swiftly don the clothes and take a quick glance in the mirror to style my hair. I shake my head to get the water from the mountain river out of my hair and tug a brush through it, before rejoining Norman on our way to the Reapings.

…

How do all these people bear this? It's so boring, standing here in rows and neat little columns, listening to this lady with white hair and silver eyes talk all our ears off about things we've heard multiple times over. But it's the slight tremor in her voice as she reads out her speech that gives me pause from rolling my eyes. Because there's something bright glittering in the corner of one of her eyes that looks suspiciously like a tear. Our Escort… is crying.

"And now," Winter announces, voice still shaky, "It is time to introduce you to our two very lucky tributes to go into this year's Games."

The girl's name is one I've never heard before. It catches some spark of recognition in me for a brief moment before dying out. She's not hard on the eyes, but she could be an ogre for all I could care- but something about those eyes makes me feel as if she's staring straight into my soul- and assessing everything she sees. I know almost all of the boys eligible to go into the Games in my District. Almost all of us are Collectors, and the fact that one of us while never again be able to witness the beauty that is Jagged Mountain is something that breaks every one of our hearts. That one among our ranks would be ruthlessly slaughtered for the entertainment of some sick sadists in the Capitol. That one of us would never again be seen in District 11.

I just never thought that one person would be me.

o0o

**Natalia 'Nat' Oakly (17)**

My mother is, predictably, the first one in the room. She's in tears, and I nearly go to my knees at the sight of her- my strong, resilient, mother- crying. But I force myself to keep it together, even as my role model sobs, holding my close. We stay that way for who knows how long- minutes, hours, days- I couldn't care less. But she's gone all too soon, giving me a soft peck on the forehead as she leaves.

Jacob's next, and he holds a necklace between his fingers, a small gold rose dangling at its center. He carefully, almost reverently, clasps it around my neck, gently lifting my dark hair. He then pulls me close and whispers into my ear, quiet and reassuring.

"Remember everything I taught you, Nat. You can handle a weapon. You know your way around the wild. You have this Game. You can take them. Just keep your head in it and a smile on that beautiful face of yours."

I don't move or speak, but I know he understands. He knows I hear him. As content as I am just leaning on him, I have to ask one thing. Make him promise one thing. A death wish, if you will. I step back, out of his embrace, and tilt my chin up, looking him straight in the eye. "Keep my mother safe," I tell him. "You can't let her down. Not after Marcus." The mention of my biological father makes Jacob flinch slightly, but I barrel on, ignoring the twinge of guilt in my chest. "You need to take care of her. Promise me you will."

Jacob opens his mouth, but a hard rap on the door drowns out whatever he was going to say. Two outranking Peacekeepers step into the doorway and gesture Jacob out of the room.

"Promise me!" I order, stepping forward even as Jacob is walking back. But right when I think that he's going to leave without granting me the one thing I ask for before going to my death, Jacob meets my gaze and nods before he's led away. "I promise."

o0o

**A/N: Hey there, everyone I'm glad to say that I have the final structure of this story worked out, and know how I want most of it to go! I give you Mic Klaus and Natalia Oakly of District 11! Mic had no visitors, at least not in his form, and so I did not write that scene for him. I also don't think that he would benefit from a visiting scene, not this early, but that could just be my opinion, lol :)**

_**Trivia: What is Mic looking for in the beginning of his section?**_


	13. District 12- We Could Be Giants

Chapter 12: We Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

**Thorne Raven (17) **

_"If I share this with you, never speak a word_

_They would never understand if they ever heard_

_Gemini, Capricorn, rising in the east_

_Dancing through the witchwood, we begin to sing…"_

_~ Cartouche (Blackmore's Night)_

I duck through the streets of 12, keeping my head low and dodging as many people as possible. I try my best to keep to the alleyways and shadows, but still- I'm careful. I always am- I have to be. People like me aren't always appreciated. Witches. Wizards. Black-magic users. See, I learned how to make cards vanish into thin air, and how to pull them back out again without even batting an eyelash at age 5. I learned how to make children's' balloons dance- on the seldom chance that we even got balloons. I learned the power of simply believing. For example: if you walk through the streets with a swagger in your step and thinking that you're better than everyone else, you're bound to get some attention. Keep your head down, curve your shoulders in, and think _'oh, don't mind me, see that over there, that's a lot more interesting, isn't it?'_ and you're suddenly just another resident of District 12. Just another passerby who is not to be noticed. Which is what I need to be. Especially today. Today, I have a ton of coins in my pocket, so I can actually buy some decent clothes for once. Both for the Reaping and for performing. Some of the District citizens are friendly- watch me perform, don't turn me in, yeah? They deserve someone who looks the part that they play. Not some ragged street orphan who can do cool card tricks. Ducking in through a shop door, I glance around quickly. Empty. Thank god. Throwing off my ratty black cloak, I stand up and start rolling out the kinks in my back and shoulders. "Rosa?" I call out. Rosa, the storekeeper, is a petite woman with graying hair and who smiles at you like she's your grandmother. She's the nicest person in the District, to be completely honest with you.

"Thorne!" She putters out of the back room and pulls me into a hug. It's a bit awkward, given that she barely comes up to my shoulder, but I manage.

"Hey, Rosa," I smile. "Think you can scrounge something up for me?" At this, Rosa's eyes absolutely glow. If there's anything that woman loves more than children and pampering them with all sorts of things, it's choosing someone's clothes. Several minutes later, I have three cloaks, seven shirts, a hat, and no less than ten pairs of pants shoves into my arms. I stagger under the weight of the fabric and stumble over to a table, where I lay everything out. Running an eye over everything, I watch as Rosa bends down and grabs some boots off the floor. When she straightens up again, my eyes fly wide open. "Holy _shit_, Rosa. Where'd you get these?" They look like something the Capitol people would wear. The Capitol. People who scorn us, who look down upon us and order us around like dogs to do their bidding. They treat us like animals, not like the human beings we really are. But at least their clothes are nice. The boots have silver buckles, a sleek leather exterior, polished until you could see your reflection.

"Language!" Rosa scolds me, before glancing down at the shoes. "I have my ways," she answers mysteriously, and as much as she tries to smother it, I can see her lips twitching up at the corners. She meanders over and starts examining the different materials I had laid out. When I try to point at something, she slaps my hand out of the way and continues shoving various things off the tabletop, muttering, "No, not that," and "now that just won't do!". Finally, she holds out her selection. I swear that my eyebrows hit the ceiling.

"Rosa, there's no way in he-" her glare cuts me off, and I quickly reassess my wording. "Rosa, I can't pay for that. Even with this." I hold up the pouch of coins. "Not possible."

"You don't have too," Rosa tells me, in that kind, elderly voice of hers.

"Rosa!" I protest. She's always been like this. "At least let me give you what I can. You need the money." She does. She supports a family of five- herself, her two daughters, son, and her husband, who is unable to work in the mines because of his hacking cough and bent back. It's just not physically possible for him anymore.

"You need it more than I do," Rosa argues. "You live on the streets, and don't take care of yourself like you should."

"I take care of myself just fine," I retort. "You have four empty mouths to feed. Excluding you!"

"Thorne, my time is coming and so are my children's," Rosa says gently. "My husband is practically on his deathbed. Let me do this for you. This one thing."

"No!" I shake my head, determined to keep on protesting. "You've already done so much for me. Let me return the favor!"

Rosa opens her mouth as if to speak, but something outside catches her eye, and she quickly folds up the cloth on the table and forces it into my arms. She pushes me towards the back exit. "Go," she whispers fiercely. "Peacekeepers are coming. We've been spotted. Run! Get out of here!"

"But-"

"GO!" She shoves me out the door with more force than a woman of her size and age should be able to muster, and slams it shut behind me. But even though the walls, I can hear as the Peacekeepers barge in. Hear Rosa's protesting cries as she's dragged away. I stand for a long moment, stunned, wracked with indecision. Do I go after her? Chase her down and force the Peacekeepers to let her go? I start in that direction, before the rational part of my brain kicks in. I know I'll never make it. The odds are not in my favor. So I stop. I stop, the clothes a dead weight in my arms, the coins a heavy reminder of my failure, turn tail, and run.

o0o

**Aveline Wren (16)**

_"Mama- come here_

_Approach, appear_

_Dad, I'm alone_

_'Cause this house don't feel like home…"_

_~ Unsteady ( X Ambassadors)_

Darting through the streets, I check over my shoulder to see if there's anyone behind me. Nope. A glance to the left shows empty air beside me, as does a quick shift to the right. I slow my jog into a slight, limping walk, and lean against the wall of the orphanage. A rasping cough grips me, and I double over and wait for the worst of it to pass. Once it does, and I regain my breath, I drag a garbage can over to the side of the building and hop onto it. This way, I'm actually tall

enough to reach the window. I'm too damn short for this. Knocking softly, I hiss, "Daria. Daria, c'mere! It's me, Aveline!" When no response comes, I sigh and shake my head. "You owe me," I mutter to the clouds above me. "You owe me so damn much." Then, I brace myself with one hand against the wall and run my fingers around the edge of the frame. Finding the lever I need, I yank it back with all my strength, and the window flies open. "Daria, it's Reaping day!" I yell into the now open window. "Get your ass out here!" Jumping down from the garbage can, I skitter towards the front door. Even before I get there, I can hear the commotion.

"Daria, you will not-"

"Make me!" Daria taunts back, and then she's bolting out the door, a huge grin on her face and a glint in her grey eyes. She grabs my hand and pulls me with her, while the orphanage keeper chases after us with a broom, cussing us out as we flee to the meadows. "Bold move you pulled back there," she pants after a couple of minutes of hard running. "I didn't know you could do that."

"You were going to forget!" I exclaim softly, glancing at the ground and kicking at a rock with the toe of my shoe.

"Like _hell_ I was," Daria snorts. "If you'd given me five more minutes I coulda gotten out."

I shrug, ducking my head. I don't even know where that surge of courage came from. But it's gone now, and I'm back to plain, skittish Aveline. Daria flops down in the grass beneath us and I join her, wincing as my sore muscles stretch from the position.

"So," Daria murmurs. "Whaddya think about today?"

"The Reapings?" I answer tiredly. God, I didn't get enough sleep last night. I never do. Stay out late, wake up at the buttcrack of dawn to go to the mines. I'm far from a miner, though. I'm their canary- someone who could scout ahead and warn them of any potentially dangerous areas. And, like the canary, if something bad happened down there, I will probably be the first to die. "I think they're designed for those kids in the inner Districts."

"Prissy, spoiled, can't get their heads outta their own asses?"

I chuckle, which quickly turns into a rasping cough and wheeze for air. Daria rubs circles on my back through most of it, and when I subside, she shrugs. "Yeah. I mean, they Volunteer to practically become a serial killer. The Careers are trained with weapons since they're old enough to hold them. It seems like something they'd like."

"I can't believe them. And no one who actually gets Reaped goes into the Games, they don't have to worry about it. There'll always be a Volunteer."

"It's like that in all the higher Districts,"

"It's like that here, too," I point out. "Like, if you were the mayor's daughter. Someone would probably feel obligated to take your place."

"That's not the same though."

"I wonder what it would be like to be the mayor's daughter," I mutter sleepily. "Bet it would be nice. Have fresh produce every day and not have a care in the world."

"Maybe even go to school," Daria agrees.

Three gongs sound in the distance. I crack my eyes open. Sitting up, I brush a hand through my ratty hair and smooth out my makeshift dress. "Come on," Daria grins, tugging me up out of the grass and to my feet. Instantly, a cough wracks my body and she waits it out, before tugging me in the direction of the square. "Let's go!"

o0o

**Thorne Raven (17)**

I reel back against the stone wall of an alley several blocks later. My breath is coming in harsh pants, and it takes everything I can muster not to sink to my knees right then and there. From grief, from shame, from relief, I'm not quite sure. I nearly drop the expensive fabrics I'm carrying in my arms and scramble to catch the bundles of cloth, before unfolding clothes. A simple black cotton long-sleeved shirt, and pants to match. Non-descript. Shrugging, I change out of my ratty wear I had probably had on me for at least a week, judging by their stench, and tug the other clothes on. Tight, but they'll do. Probably shouldn't think naughty thoughts for a while, though. The cloak is the true work of art. Dark purple fabric swirls like living night off my fingertips, silver embroidery glinting in the form of moons and stars. I inhale deeply and sweep the garment around my shoulders. Oh yes. This is magnificent. Something that glints in the rays of the morning sun falls from the folds of the fabric, and I reach out to snag it by the chain. On further inspection, I realize it's a crescent moon necklace, fashioned from some sort of bone and studded with aquamarine. A token worthy of a Career tribute. Maybe someone from 4. I drop the chain around my neck. Screw 4. This is my token now. Squaring my shoulders, I turn back to the mouth of the alleyway. The Reaping bell should ring soon. It's time to see who will be chosen to go die a glorious, bloody and painful death this year. Sweeping the hood up and over my head, I adopt some semblance of my, 'I'm a table, don't look at me' disguise, and hurry off.

o0o

**Aveline Wren (16)**

Effie Trinket has been the escort for District 12 longer than any of us can remember. Her, and her trilling voice, lopsided wigs and enough make-up that she looks like a zombie. Teetering across our half-hearted attempt at a stage and to the Reaping bowls. My name is in there ten times. Tesserae, for me and my mother. My mother. Grumpy, narrow-eyed, and about as nice as a thornbush. She and I clash over almost everything, especially when I return with my daily earnings. I usually make more for myself than for the family, and the first night I returned, it resulted in me fleeing the house due to her wrath. And yet, the day I turned 12, I walked to the Justice building, towing my little wagon behind me, and collect the much-needed food. I do every year. And as a result, my name goes in twice a year. But the odds are still in my favor. Compared to those who are older and have a larger family, the odds of my name being drawn are slim. Standing in the crowd, I glance over my shoulder. A move out of impulse, if anything else. We had to be careful in these parts.

"Ladies first!" Effie is sing-songing, and reaches down into the glass ball, her fingers discarding slip of paper after slip of paper. I shut my eyes, desperately praying, not Daria, not Daria, anyone but her, please, not Daria, and when Effie calls out the girl's name, I initially breathe out a sigh of relief. It's not Daria. But then, she calls out the name again. Aveline. Aveline Wren.

o0o

**Thorne Raven (17)**

The girl looks petrified. She stands there, unmoving until someone gives her a hard shove in the right direction and then she stumbles towards the stage, eyes wide and frightened. I feel sorry for her- she'll most likely die in the Bloodbath, like all other tributes from District 12 have. Trinket totters across the stage to our bowl, after helping the small girl- Aveline- clamber up onto the stage. She digs around for a few moments, and I have enough time to feel my pity start to ebb from compassion to scorn. Even if she was surprised, she never should have shown it. She could have tried to make an impression on the Capitol crowd and the other tributes, but no. She just froze up like a deer caught in the headlights. But when the slip of paper is whisked out of the bowl, it's my world that goes still. Still, like the silence of a crowd holding their breaths before the crescendo shatters over them. Still, like the tense, bracing silence of the calm before a storm. Still, like a corpse, lying in a pool of blood, as so many have in Games before these. The two words thunder through me. Thorne Raven. My name. Trinket is looking around, smiling and looking around for all the world like she's expecting her idol to walk out of the crowd. Man up, Thorne, I tell myself. Come on. Be a player. Tugging my cloak tighter around myself, I start weaving through the crowd. Soon enough, they part for me, and I resolutely keep my shoulders back as I make my way towards the stage. I climb the few steps, and Trinket is positively beaming as I face her. Gritting my teeth, I force down my disgust and shake hands with Aveline, before Effie throws are hands in the air and calls out, "Your tributes for the Hunger Games! Aveline Wren and Thorne Raven!"

o0o

**Aveline Wren (16)**

Three Peacekeepers escort me to the Justice building. Three. A whole herd, compared to the sole watch Thorne is given. But I'm jittery enough to consider making a run for it. Twitchy and jumpy probably isn't the best recipe for a tribute who'll go willingly and without complaint. The Justice building of District 12 isn't huge but large enough to have pretty roomy spaces for the tributes to wait for their final visitors. I sink into a chair and stare at my hands They're trembling. I reach up to tug on my ear- a nervous habit I've had since forever, and wince as my fingertips graze over the sunburns.

"Aveline!" Daria rushes into the room and pulls me into a long, fierce embrace. "Aveline, I'm so, so sorry."

"Ther's nothing to be sorry for," I answer, and her tears splash at the side of my neck. I blink back my own, biting my lip as I hold her close.

"Please," Daria whispers into my hair. "Please come back, Ave."

"I will," I promise, knowing that it's an oath I cannot keep.

"Promise!" Daria repeats, a bit harshly.

"I promise," I tell her, and then I'm crying too.

"You looked so scared," Daria continues, pulling back and staring at me sadly. "Standing up there, all alone on that stage."

"I was," I confess, although it's not a confession at all. I hadn't even bothered trying to hide my reaction. It wouldn't matter with a girl from 12. It never did. "I was scared, Daria. I still am."

She pulls me in for one last hug goodbye. "Be brave, Aveline," she murmurs into my ear, voice hoarse from her previous sobbing. "You can do it." Then she's gone, our last few moments together up. I drop back onto my chair again and sit there for a few moments. Waiting for my next visitor. And so I sit. And wait. But no one else comes. Not even my mother. But… fine. If she doesn't care about me, then so be it. I am strong. I can do this.

_Can't I?_

o0o

**Thorne Raven (17)**

I wait for an hour. Sixty minutes and no one comes. Who would? Anyone who openly admits to associating with me would be arrested and maybe even killed on sight. Rosa is either imprisoned or dead. There's no one else. But isn't that the way you've always wanted it? A small voice whispers. The way you've always liked it? Maybe it is. Was. I don't really know. Not anymore. I reach up, and my fingers brush the crescent necklace. The sharp edges bite at my fingertips. Wincing, I pull back. Soon enough, I hear the door open, and a Peacekeeper roughy gestures for me to follow him. I'm up off the couch in a heartbeat, blood roaring through my ears. This. This is the beginning of my journey into the Hunger Games. I reach out to steady myself against the doorframe. The Peacekeeper waits just outside the threshold, and I brace myself, square my shoulders, and step out. This is my Hunger Games. I allow myself a grim smile and sweep my cloak of stars and moonlight around me. _By the time I'm finished with you, Seren, you won't even know what hit you._

**A/N: Earlier update than normal, couldn't resist, sorry! I am more than pleased to present you with the last set of tributes: Thorne Raven, by ShippingGoddess56, and Aveline Wren, by thorne98! We've moved on to the train rides now, so I'll be writing a divider chapter with PoVs from some of the previous Victor's before we get into that. It should be up within a week, hopefully, since being holed up in the house doesn't give a girl much to do except sit down at her trusty laptop and write the day away. No trivia, but drop me either a PM or something in the reviews about your favorite tribute(s) and what they've done to earn that spot for a few extra sponsor points!**

**Side note: If you haven't noticed by now, I haven't got myself a beta. (That right there was incorrect grammar, proves my point exactly) Therefore I am the only one editing and sometimes I miss things. If you see any mistakes, please point them out so I can fix them ASAP!**

**Over and out, and may the odds be **_**ever**_** in your favor,**

**SetFires (Vixen)**


	14. Won't See Me Closing In

Chapter 13: Won't See Me Closing In (I'm Gonna Make You Suffer)

"_I will keep quiet, you won't even know I'm here_

_You won't suspect a thing, you won't see me in the mirror_

_But I've crept into your heart, you can't make me disappear_

'_Till I make you…"_

_~The Devil Within (Digital Daggers)_

o0o

**Ashar Vesper (Victor of the 25th Hunger Games)**

The meeting hasn't even started yet, and my head is already pounding. Getting all 19 mentors in the room at the same time is a miracle in itself, but getting all of us to actually _cooperate_… it's a nightmare. Adding Valkyrie into the mix will only make things worse. The Head Gamemaker doesn't get along well with many of us- she doesn't get along well with many _people_, period. Last year's meeting descended into chaos faster than any of us could say 'nightlock'. The fight had broken out before the Reaping recaps had finished playing, and relations were still tight between Azer Feyran, one of District 1's mentors, and Valkyrie because of it.

The elevator lets out a soft _ding!_ as the stainless steel doors slide open onto the neat wooden slats of District 7's floor. This seemed to be the best place to hold the meeting within the training center- right in the middle, and Garret is one of the best tension-relievers at the table. Harriet isn't so bad herself, but her fellow mentor has been around for much, much longer, with his victory at the very first Hunger Games. Thank God for small mercies. Stepping out of the elevator, the scent of pine hits me hard as I make my way into the massive living room. 14 of the 19 are already here, sprawled out on the various couches and chairs around the space. Valkyrie is already sporting a glass of red wine, and I'm tempted to ask for a glass myself. Things are bound to get chippy, sooner rather than later, with our track record. I slot myself between Jolt Haas and Harvest Moon- the latter having rather unfortunate luck with her name. Jolt barely glances my way, barely inclining his head in my direction before continuing his heated debate with Stardust, but Harvest shoots me a small smile and moves over to provide some semblance of personal space. Of course, this act forces _her_ up against the arm of the couch, which is already balancing a precariously positioned wine glass, and before any of us had time to react, the glass is shattering on the floor and red liquid is spreading like a stain of blood across the hardwood floor.

"_Shit,"_ Harvest hisses, but Harriet is already out of her seat, signaling to one of the Avoxs positioned around the room. He hurries over, towel appearing in hand, mopping up the spilled wine with smooth practiced motions. He's done in no time, and he quickly rises from the floor, glancing up, and- oh, God.

Emerald-green eyes lock with mine over the Harvest's head, olive skin and long lashes, and I can feel my blood turn to ice. _No. Not now. Not now, please, not now, _and I plunge into the memories like a river.

_I can't catch my breath. The howls and yips of the mutts are right behind me, and Syrian is at my shoulder. "Go, Anshar!" he pants, and pushes me in front of him. I stumble ahead, and the Cornucopia is close. It's so close, and all we need to do is get to it. All we need to do is get to it, climb it, and then we can make a stand there. 20 yards. My lungs are burning, and I can't get air down fast enough. How long have we been running? It could be minutes, hours, maybe even days, and I wouldn't know. All that matters is the next step, the next sliver of air that I can get into my lungs, and Syrian. 15 yards, and we're close, we're so close, and I can still hear the rasp of Syr's breathing in my ear, over the sounds of pursuit, and that's a good thing, isn't it? That's a good thing. 10 yards, and we're almost there, almost there, almost there. 5 yards. Then 3. I dive for the curling tail of the horn and haul myself up, the heat of the gold inlay scorching my hands, and I _climb_. Now, all there is is the roar of blood in my ears and the pain in my chest and hands. And then, there is nothing. I've made it to the slope of where the mouth of the Cornucopia opens, and there is nothing. Silence. The mutts have gone quiet. And I can no longer hear Syrian behind me. _

_No. _

_Slowly, I look up. Look back. All I can see is a sea of brown converging on the same spot. _

_Syrian. _

"ANSHAR!" I start, suddenly aware of strong hands on my shoulders, shaking me, and the heat of another body far too close to mine for comfort. Breath I didn't even know I was holding punches out of my lungs, and I shove whoever it is away, pressing myself back into the couch. Stardust stumbles for a moment, one slender hand reaching back to steady herself against a conveniently placed table, before standing back up. "Anshar," she repeats, calmer this time, and I get the feeling that she's been trying to get my attention for a long, long time.

"I'm sorry," I whisper at her. "I'm sorry." _I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I push everyone away. _

"Hey." She steps forward again. Nothing in her midnight eyes but kindness and empathy. "You back with us?" I can't get words around this lump in my throat, so I manage a small nod. Stardust smiles gently, placing a slender hand on my shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You're going to be okay."

_You're going to be okay. _How many times has that mantra run its well-worn track in my mind? _You're going to be okay. You're going to get through this. _It's never done any good, though, has it? _Going to be_ is not the same as _you are_. I am not okay. I'm barely even functioning. How can I mentor someone who has trained for this all their life, who has grown up with the weight of a sword in their hand or the strain of a bowstring on their arm, where I had never willingly set hands on a weapon until less than a year ago? The answer is plain enough to me: I can't. But there's no way I can say any of what's going on in my head out loud, is there. I can't say any of it, because I have to remain strong. I have to keep up this front, this mask, and continue to place band-aids over bullet holes. _I can't do this, _lies on the tip of my tongue. _I don't know how, please help me._

"I'll be okay," I say instead. Repeat her words back. "I'll be okay."

Stardust nods, giving my shoulder one last squeeze before going back to Ethan, where the District 9 Victor welcomes her with open arms. She settles down beside him with a smile, tucking her feet up under her with all the grace of a dancer. "Well then," she concludes. "Shall we begin?"

o0o

Silence primarily reigns the table as the flickering lights from the Reaping recaps play across the screen of the massive TV. When the anthem and Capitol insignia come back on, as well as the top lights, no one speaks for another good 30 seconds. It's a miracle really, one I savor as much as possible until Calibre breaks the silence.

"Well," he says lightly. "We seem to have an interesting cast to work with this year."

A detrimental snort is heard from across the table, and he glances over to see Azer rolling his eyes, slouching down in his chair.

"Got something to add, Feyran?" Faith snaps, and the District 1 Victor blows out a huff of air that ruffles his feathered bangs.

"Not precisely, no, other than the fact that we're talking about _kids_, who we're sending to their _deaths_. This isn't a_ joke_."

"No one said that it was." Ethan cuts in smoothly, tilting his head to the side, platinum hair shifting with the movement. "We've all been through the same thing you have, Azer. We've seen things too."

Azer, obviously dissatisfied, but willing to settle, repositions himself in his seat with one last glare in Calibre's direction.

Valkyrie raises a trimmed brow at me, as if to ask, _what the hell's up with him?_ I shrug in response. The only predictable thing about that boy- because at 19 years old, he _is_ still a boy, no matter how much he denies it- is that he's unpredictable. "That is beyond the point." Valkyrie declares, and at least seven pairs of eyes shoot to her in warning. Indeed, Azer is half out of his seat already, cobalt eyes blazing.

"Azer," Ethan repeats, reaching out a pale hand and gently guiding the irate Victor back into his seat. "She didn't mean it like that." At this, he sends another pointed glance Valkyrie's way. The Head Gamemaker only tilts her chin up, and Ethan rolls his eyes briefly before sitting back again.

"Watch your mouth, Valkyrie," Garret warns. "Just because you are the Head Gamemaker does not give you license to dismiss what we've been through as such. Mind your manners, in the future. Please." His voice isn't hostile, though, during his reprimand. He just sounds… tired. "Now," he continues, once Valkyrie has sullenly nodded her consent, "Can we please move on to what we are really here to discuss? The Arena this year. Head Gamemaker, I leave the explanation to you." Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he adds, "Without any snide comments, please."

Valkyrie nods again, resettling herself before she speaks. "I'm going to start with the mutts, before anything else, because they're the least complicated of the things I have planned. There are three new variations that I want to release in the Arena, all three of which are animals. I've done some genetic experimenting, and I think that each one will be _very_ successful." Here, she pauses dramatically. If she was expecting some reaction other than unimpressed looks and glazed eyes, she must've been severely disappointed. "But that's not what you want to hear." Reaching into a small satchel by her feet, she removes a holo, setting it on a table before her. "My main focus has gone towards my newest project." She presses a button, and a diagram of a massive, dog-like robot appears atop the projector. "He's the next step in artificial-intelligence. Code-named F-A-N-G, short for Feral Automated Night Guard. But that seems like a mouthful, so we're just calling him FANG. To put it simply, and spare you a whole lot of coding jargon, he's a killing machine."

Once more, preternatural silence governs the room while this information is digested.

Stardust, the youngest Victor in the room, suddenly leans forward. "How do we know you're not going to favor this Scythe girl, from 9?" she demands, blue eyes steely. "We all know your past, and she's your own flesh and blood. How do we know that you haven't programmed that dog of yours to kill anyone who harms her? How do we know that you've trained that dog to kill all her competition?"

Valkyrie noticeably bristles at the slight. "FANG is _not_ a dog. He's a-"

"We don't give a shit about what your plaything is, Summers." Azer's slow drawl is a silk-wrapped dagger, and Valkyrie narrows her eyes at him. The District 1 Victor smirks right back at her, adds, "Keep that forked tongue of yours behind your teeth, too. Tell us honestly, or don't say anything at all."

"Azer," Faith warns, and those glittering blue eyes slide to her. To her unending credit, she does not balk under his stare, and I'm reminded of just how dangerous he is- and how exactly he won his Hunger Games.

"If this _Scythe Tonium_ is any of your concern, we do not have to reveal FANG until she is dead. Besides, there is no way for us to control who FANG kills and who he doesn't." Valkyrie responds steadily. "We've incorporated an ability for him to Pair with a single tribute- one who can override most of the friend-foe recognition systems. " Garret is already shaking his head, and the Head Gamemaker turns to him, cocking her head to the side. "Problem?"

"This machine you've created…" Garret starts, before pinning Valkyrie with a sharp glare when she opens her mouth. "This AI," he rephrases, "This AI is far too powerful for the Hunger Games. When are you planning to insert him into the Arena? How do we know he won't kill every tribute within 3 hours? And if he ends up… Pairing, you call it, with a tribute, will that not make them the perfect duo to kill anyone who gets in the way?"

Valkyrie's mouth tightens, and her voice comes out clipped as she answers, "We have taken that into consideration, Garret, and we have everything under control."

"_Under control,_" Azer mutters, before receiving a hissed _"Quiet,"_ from Faith.

"Yes, Azer." Valkyrie snaps. "_Under control._ Might I remind you that I have been doing this for _seven years,_ and I am well aware of what I am doing? Have I ever run an Arena that has not been _under control?_"

"It just seems like this could spiral out of our control." Ethan puts in, bracing his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. "For all you've done, Valkyrie, you have never done a technology based Arena. And to be inserting a creature such as the one you have created…" He shrugs. "Azer's concern is a legitimate one. Besides, how will you even get this FANG into the Arena to begin with? Like all mutts, I'm assuming you want his entrance to be fairly covert, and there is no way that something like that," a nod towards the still flickering projection of the mechanical wolf, "is almost impossible to _not_ detect."

"I'm so glad you asked." The Head Gamemaker purrs. "And it brings me to my next point. Getting FANG into the Arena is quite simple, because he will be there from the very beginning."

"How." Azer demands.

"It's a fairly obvious solution." Valkyrie answers, a smug tilt to the corner of her mouth. She retrieves the FANG holo, placing it back in her bag before replacing it with another, significantly larger holo. "The Arena is a hologram."

o0o

**A/N: Hello, everyone! I'm back with the divider chapter between the Reapings and the train rides! I hope you enjoyed this little filler! This whole idea of the robot dog is based off of the creature in the movie **_**A-X-L. **_**Not the best thing I've watched, but fairly decent. If you want to know a bit more about how this thing works, go watch the movie. It's not like any of us are on a real time constraint here, heh. No trivia today, because my lazy ass couldn't think of one, but there will be one next chapter. I hope you're all doing well and staying relatively sane! Chapter title is from the same song that kicks the chapter off, **_**The Devil Within **_**by Digital Daggers. I personally like to think of it as FANG's theme song, myself.**

**Stay safe out there!**

**-SetFires (Vixen)**


	15. Don't Forget Where You Belong

_**"Oh, I will carry you over fire and water for your love**_

_**And I will hold you close and hope your heart is strong enough**_

_**When the night is coming down on you**_

_**We will find a way through the dark…"**_

_**~Through The Dark (One Direction)**_

**Ambrose Volta (14) District 5 Tribute**

I never thought I'd end up like this: here, on a train to the Capitol, sitting beside the Wolfchild watching a hazel-eyed boy and white-clad girl Volunteer from One. He's silent enough, dark eyes intent on the screen. His long fingers tap out a swift beat against the arm of the couch before occasionally curling into mock claws, and every time he moves I jolt. We continue through the Reapings like that until we reach District Eight's section.

"Oh," he says, lips pursed into a teasing line as he watches the District 8 boy stalk off the stage, flipping a multitude of Peacekeepers off as he goes. "Kitty's got claws."

I shoot a twitchy glance over at him. The list of tributes I'm willing to talk to is depressingly short at this point, consisting only of the flighty girl from 6 and maybe the pretty boy from 1. Stardust is perched on the arm of the couch on my side, ash blonde hair pulled into a tight braid down her back. A few years ago, my heart would be pounding its way out of my chest to have the Victor this close to me. Now, it simply carries on beating as normal, albeit a little faster, due to a former crush this close. Achilla, on the other hand, is sitting in a chair a little farther away from the leader of the Jackals- she'd made to mimic Stardust by perching on his couch arm, but the Wolfchild had just given her a smile full of teeth and she'd backed off fast.

"Sash Radcliffe is one you should watch out for, Asher," Stardust warns. "He knows how to handle himself in a fight."

Nodding, the fiery-haired tribute turns back to the screen in time to point at a muscular boy on the stage for District Nine. "And him."

"Hopefully he's just all brawn and no brain, but yes," Stardust agrees. "You'd be better off staying out of his path until you have the numbers to take him or a long-range sniper. And by long-range, I mean _long."_

"Yes, ma'am." Asher quips back. Stardust sighs from her position beside me, and I divert my attention from the screen, pulling my eyes from the muscular boy's District partner.

"Asher, I want you to start taking this seriously," Stardust warns. "This is a life or death situation you're being thrown into, and while I have no doubt that you've been in hard places back in 5, it's very unlikely that you've faced anyone like this. Once you're dead, you're dead, and that's final. Start treating this for the serial murder that it is."

"It's not serial murder." Asher rubutts, his chin tilted up, the familiar _all-the-fucks-I-don't-give_ set to his mouth. "Serial murder is when there are multiple killings by the same person and are spaced out over a time span, usually a month or more." Stardust slides off the arm of the couch, and Asher rises to meet her, dark eyes flaring. "I'm going to be dead within the next two years. It doesn't make a difference in how I treat this. I'm going to die soon, one way or another, and I'd like to have a shot at winning this before I go."

"These people are _dangerous_." Our mentor answers calmly. "And while I know your story, and respect your experiences and knowledge, it simply _does not compare _to what Districts 1, 2, and 4 have."

"That Marina girl can't do shit against me," Asher growls, and I squirm deeper into the couch cushions. Is this how the next 4 days are going to be? My District partner and mentor at each other's throats while I fade into the background?

"And while she may not, what about Thames Venturi?" Stardust demands, taking a step forward. "Or Halliday Frost? What about that Aegis from District 2, or Mikail from 4? _Jordan Wheaton_ from District-fucking-_9 _is stronger than you, and while you may have the agility to outmaneuver him if you stay and fight, I swear to God that you will be dead within the next 20 minutes. You may have an advantage here, but don't overestimate your abilities."

A muscle feathers in the Wolfchild's jaw. "I know my strengths, and I know my own weaknesses. Trust me to handle myself accordingly." His voice is taut, body rigid from where he faces down the Victor of the 24th Hunger Games. "I can look out for my own safety. I don't have an actual death wish, you know."

"Death wish or not, you can't go strutting about like this." Stardust's voice is flat again, and her chest is rising with steady, deep breaths, having clearly mastered herself after the outburst a few moments ago. For all her cool exterior, though, I can see the hard glint in her eyes. "Everybody here has something, _anything_ they can use to their advantage, and I'll be damned if their mentors aren't teaching them how to use it. Whatever you say, those Victors are my _friends_, and I know that they want one of their tributes to win these as much as I want one of you two to take the glory back to our District. So they're going to be doing everything in their power to help them too, and if you can't see past your own abilities, then that's your own problem."

_Everybody here has something. _Anything_ they can use to their advantage._

_These people are _dangerous.

Yes. Everybody here _is_ dangerous, and Stardust is right. They all have some advantage, some hidden ability that will be honed into a razor-sharp weapon in the 3 days before the Arena. That Scythe girl who was on screen a few minutes earlier has a political background- she's good at talking, at bending people to her will. Those Careers were _trained _for this. Even District 12 has a magician-like person, who can probably turn into smoke and vanish without a trace. And I have nothing. I have nothing because I am just a girl who fell in love with a gang leader and never thought twice about anything. I don't have anything going for me, do I? I never bothered really learning how to fight, because I had always thought that Kaede would show me how once I joined her and we became the joint leaders of the Mockingjays. God, I'm an _idiot_. Asher's saying something back, pitched low and rumbling in his chest, and my lip starts to tremble. _No_. No, no, _don't fucking cry, Ambrose. Don't you fucking dare._ The sting is at the corners of my eyes, though, and I can feel them welling up. _Don't. Fucking, Cry._ I bury my face into the couch, furiously rubbing my eyes. _Why am I even crying in the first place? _I don't _feel_ like crying, and there's _no good reason too._ So why are my eyes still wet?

"Ambrose?" That's Stardust's voice. _No, no, she will _not_ see you like this._ "Ambrose, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I bite out and am shocked at how wobbly my voice is. _I don't _want_ to cry, though, why is this happening?_

"It's obviously not 'nothing'," Stardust mutters, and gathers me into her arms, sinking back down onto the couch beside me. "Put your head on my shoulder."

_This is mortifying_. I frantically shake my head, pulling away. She can't see me like this, not when _I _don't even understand what's happening.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay," she soothes, reaching for me again. A pause. Then, "Well, not _okay_, but, you know. Everything's going to work out. We'll figure things out. Together. Alright?"

_We'll figure things out._

_Together._

_Together, together, together_. The word echoes around my head, beats its way into my heart. _Together, together, together, we'll figure this out together. _And even as I shake my head again, stumble off the couch and away from Stardust's concerned eyes and Achilla's soft voice, calling after me, those words still work their way into somewhere vital, resting in my chest, a three-syllable beat. _Together. Together. Together._

o0o

**Aveline Wren (16) District 12 Tribute**

How my life could have been turned sideways, backward, and upside-down in a matter of three hours is completely beyond me. One moment, I was lying with Daria in our meadow of wildflowers daydreaming about what we might learn when we grew older to… this. This, with a woman I hardly know, a boy the District despises, and a Victor who won only out of sheer luck. Well, shit. I've tried to keep a relatively low profile for the time I've spent around the team, and I'm pretty sure I've succeeded. For the most part. Thorne reads people scarily well and seems to sneak up on you without warning. A little while ago he crept up on Effie and scared the honkers out of her. Huh. Effie. She's a good person at heart, I'm sure, but… she's from the Capitol. The Capitol, where we are seen as nothing more than lapdogs and entertainment. Where they watch us die for fun and place bets on us as if we are nothing more than animals at their disposal, to be put down or dismissed once they tire of what we have to offer. God. Sadists, the lot of them. I turn from where I'm stationed at the window and make my way to the main living space, where I find Thorne and Amber, watching the Reaping recaps. Feeling distantly offended that they didn't bother to invite me, before seating myself beside Thorne on the couch and casting an eye towards the screen. I keep an eye out for tributes that might cause me problems- such as the dangerous-looking girl from 9 or the unhinged guy from 7- but pay no real attention.

_You looked so scared, standing up there, all alone on that stage._

_I was._

Oh, Darnia. Where are you now? Are you back in the orphanage, getting scolded by that old lady who runs the place? Are you in our field of wildflowers, laying back and pretending that I'm still with you? At least she's home.

Home. Of all the things District 12 is, I never really thought that I'd think of that place as _home_. But… but now, on some luxury train going someplace with bright lights and vivid colors, so different from the muted browns and grays of the Seam, 12 feels like home more than this place ever could. Even with the scrawny mattress and the too-small blankets we had to share, District 12 is where I grew up. Where I met my friends- met Darnia. It's where my family lives- and even though my father and brother died before I could really get to know them, and my mother is a right bitch at times, it's where everyone I've ever loved is. They're _there_ and now I'm _here_. As in, I'm not with them. I'm not laughing with Darnia and ambling around the town square, or hiding from my mother's commanding voice. I'm not squeezing under some ratty fence into the backyard of the bakery to root for scraps in their trash bin. Instead, I'm sitting here in a chair that's twice as big as Darnia's orphanage and surrounded by things that would sustain us for weeks. Maybe months. Hell, even one of these _doorknobs_ would keep us going for a few days at least. I wonder how it would be to live like this all the time? It would be dreadfully easy to get used too- it's so easy to fall into the rich life of a spoiled Capitolite, with money pouring out of their ears and diamonds at their fingertips, and it's so hard to descend into the life of poverty and hunger us of District 12 are so familiar with. It's revolting, really. Revolting that so many people in this world can take such things for granted, and not ever hear the plaintive cries of those starving to death on the streets, or the sobs of a mother who has lost her husband to a disease that has a well-known cure, but no one in the immediate area had any access to it because it was too expensive and all the sellers cared about was money, money, money. But, then again, money is power, I suppose. If you have it, you can do just about anything- live with a full stomach, have nice things, convince people to do things they wouldn't otherwise do. All people crave power, and therefore all people crave money. It's disheartening, hearing people squabble at the market over what they'll give for a measly scrap of lace or a small loaf of bread. And yet… and yet, that is where I belong. I belong in the grey air of District 12, where we constantly track coal on our shoes and where hunger constantly worries at our stomachs. Where we fight over the price of a scrawny piece of meat and are overjoyed at the sight of freshly baked bread.

District 12, which is as far from the Capitol as you can get. The Capitol, where the air is fresh and clean, and bellies are constantly full and you must watch how much you eat because you might _gain weight_. Where they do not bicker over the price of bread, but instead how much a larger house will cost, or a diamond earring.

I don't belong here. Not among the golds and silver engravings on the interior walls, the sleek design of the tables, or the smoothly sliding doors that separate different areas of the train car.

_This is no place for a girl like me_.

o0o

**Lancia Carerra (13) District 6 Tribute**

At first, I had thought that Phoenix Doppelman was a nice guy. With the few words we had exchanged leading up to now, he'd seemed easygoing and fairly laid back. You could probably throw a rotten apple or something just as vile at that boy and he wouldn't even flinch- just dodge out of the way and continue going about his business as if nothing had happened. Overall, he struck me as a very cool person- calm, collected, with a voice like molasses and a smile like the moon.

But I guess that first impressions can be misleading.

At first, they seemed to be only small, seemingly harmless words, always said in an easy voice and with a neutral stare. Offhand comments about the strength of the boy from 9. The sharp gaze of the Career from 4, that _had_ to be hiding something genius. A little note about the closeup on the boy from 1, with the network of scars that traced his hands and forearms like a spiderweb. Then they got worse. Negativity is positively dripping from every soft-spoken word, each disheartening statement worming its way under my skin and into my head.

_We need to watch out for him. He's a Career, so he's dangerous, of course, but look at the calluses on his hands. Those are from handling a sword, and he has to be good since the whole crowd is cheering his name._

_Keep an eye out for the girl there. She has some muscle on her, and she's confident. That sort of thing can't be feigned- see, right there. She might not have the skills, but she certainly has the drive, and that's dangerous enough._

_Is Valkyrie still on as Head Gamemaker? She's violent and sadistic enough that we're all probably going to be dead in a heartbeat the moment one of her mutts enters the Arena. _

And he just _keeps going_. Without a glance at me, gaze fixed solidly on the screen before us. He lists off their strengths in the same, bored tone, and makes our weaknesses clear as day. _We stand no chance against them. _

"We get it, Phoenix," I snap after he finishes his small rant about the boy from 12. "_I_ get it. We're probably both going to die in the Bloodbath, because everyone else is _so strong_ and _dangerous_ and _smart_, while we're _lacking confidence_ or _weapon expertise_, or whatever the fuck you keep going on about. I _get it,_ Phoenix, so will you please _shut up_!"

He blinks at me then. Slowly. As if he doesn't understand the words that have just come out of my mouth. "I'm just trying to analyze the competition. Find their strengths. What we need to look out for. You know." He says finally, and that's _it_.

"_Analyzing the competition_," I snap, "will do _nothing_ for us if you're only going to see where they're strong and not where they're _weak_. Weak like _us_, apparently, because we don't know how to handle a weapon, or do apparently _anything_. What's even the point of this?" I demand, jumping up from the couch and advancing on him, thrusting a finger at his slim chest. "What's even the god-damn _point_, Phoenix Doppelmen, if you've already given up hope and started planning how we're going to fucking _die_?"

_We're going to die._

_Going to die._

I'm_ going to die._ The thought hits me like a thunderbolt. _I'm going to die, and nothing in Panem is going to save me. _Even if someone like District 1 or even the boy from 5 agrees to ally with me- which they won't- they have so much more on me. They know how to fight, how to kill. I, on the other hand, do not. I'm just a little girl from 6- weak, defenseless, and an easy target. All I know how to do is run away, and fleeing is only going to get me a knife in the back. Literally. I'll probably die in the Bloodbath, regardless of how fast I book it away from there, and not know what hit me until it's too late. _Thank you for that realization, Phoenix._ I take another step forward. Now, we're practically nose to nose, and I keep my finger stiff where it's pressed up against his pec.

"_Get away from me!" _Phoenix suddenly snaps, and surges up, shoving me away with enough force to make me stumble back. I blindly fling a hand out to steady myself, palm catching sharply on the edge of a table, and pain sings sharply through my blood as the corner digs into my skin.

"What the _hell_-" I splutter, and Phoenix is off the couch, already at the door separating this room from what must be where he's sleeping.

"Next time you have a problem with what I'm saying," Phoenix hisses, eyes alight, "Have the decency to both keep your hands to yourself and _keep some fucking distance_."

With that, vanishes into his own compartment, before the heavy oak door slams shut behind him.

o0o

**A/N: And we're on our way to the Capitol! As someone brought to my concern in a PM, I am well aware that FANG has the potential to be very, very OP. I have everything, as Valkyrie would say, **_**under control**_**, and there is no need to worry! One more train ride chapter, another Capitolite chapter, which will address the 'issue' of FANG, and then the Chariot Rides ;) Apologies for the late chapter, my sister had a nasty stomach ache for most of yesterday, and I wanted to make some edits before I put this out. Chapters will gradually be getting longer too, probably starting with the chariot ride sequence. These are actually relatively short by my standards, ha, and that prologue was the smallest thing I've written in a few months.**

_**Trivia: In Mockingjay, what is the word that will trigger the holo's self-destruct sequence?**_

**Over and out,**

**-SetFires (Vixen)**


	16. Recalibrate

**Anshar Vesper (Victor of the 25th Hunger Games)**

_"We're wide awake now, our eyes are wide open_

_We're running this world, we're keeping it turning_

_We're living like giants, giants_

_We're living like giants, woah…"_

_~ Giants (League of Legends)_

-ACCESSING SERVER 3.29・

ENTER FIRST PASSWORD・PASSWORD ENTERED

ENTER SECOND PASSWORD ・ PASSWORD ENTERED

ENTER THIRD PASSWORD・PASSWORD ENTERED

ENTER FOURTH PASSWORD・PASSWORD ENTERED

IDENTIFYING USER ・VESPER, ANSHAR ・ ACCESS DENIED

**-ORDER 77-2-WHISPER-2 IN EFFECT **・OVERRIDING ACCESS CODE ・CODE OVERRIDDEN

\- ACCESSING SERVER 3.29・

ENTER FIRST PASSWORD・PASSWORD ENTERED

ENTER SECOND PASSWORD ・ PASSWORD ENTERED

ENTER THIRD PASSWORD・PASSWORD ENTERED

ENTER FOURTH PASSWORD・PASSWORD ENTERED

IDENTIFYING USER ・VESPER, ANSHAR ・ ACCESS GRANTED ・ACCESSING SERVER3.29

**-ORDER 77-3-WHISPER-2 IN EFFECT **・ACCESSING PROGRAM X-7-FOXTROT-3

LOCATING CODE, LINE 153 ・CODE, LINE 153 LOCATED ・REPLACING CODE, LINE 153・ LINE REPLACED

EXITING PROGRAM

**-ORDER 77-4-WHISPER-2 IN EFFECT **・ACCESSING FOLDER 3-51-DELTA

LOCATING FILE _FRIEND-FOE-PAIR_ ・REPLACING FILE ・FILE REPLACED

**-ORDER 77-4-WHISPER-2 IN EFFECT **・ALERTING VESPER, ASHAR OF SUCCESSFUL INFILTRATION OF FERAL AUTOMATED NIGHT GUARD'S [F-A-N-G] SERVERS

VESPER, ANSHAR ALERTED-

"_Anshar, sir."_

My head whips around towards the source of the mechanical voice, and Jolt smirks at me from across the room, feet propped up on a coffee table. "Told you he could do it."

"Never doubted it," I mutter, and rise from my own position on one of the couches of District 3's floor.

"AI's are magic." Stardust declares, before joining me at the computer setup that has been rectified around the TV. "NIXON, will you please explain what you've just done?"

Jolt snickers from where he's still reclining beside Ethan, silver eyes glinting from behind his glasses. "No need to be so polite, Stardust. I never am, right, NIX?"

"_That is correct, sir." _NIXON's automated voice drones from the built-in speakers… somewhere in the room. _"If marginally so."_

I can almost _hear _Azer's eyeroll from his place on the arm of the couch I had previously been sitting on.

Stardust doesn't deign to answer that, only repeats her request.

"_With pleasure,_" NIXON answers, and then lines of code begin scrolling across the face of the TV. _"To spare all you non-intellectuals, I have simply replaced some of the most deadly parts of his programming with the lines of code that will turn him more into a cornered predator._"

"And that's a good thing?" Azer wonders and Ethan tilts his head to the side in agreement.

"_Yes. No. It's better than what he was originally supposed to be._"

Harvest winces, the corners of her mouth pulling down into a frown. "Then he was really, _really_ bad."

"_Putting it mildly, yes._"

"That's awesome." Harvest declares, before hesitating. "The part where you've taken him down. Not the part where he's scary badass."

"_Thank you, Miss Moon._"

"So," Ethan recaps, "We've taken him down a notch, and redesigned part of his friend-foe systems."

"_In essence, yes._"

"Got it." With a nod to Ethan and Jolt, Azer stands, baring his teeth in a sharp grin. "Let's go tell the others, shall we?"

"For the _last time_," Jolt snaps from his place at the head of the massive dining table of District 3. "I didn't 'hack' the system!"

"But you did." Harriet points out. "You infiltrated FANG's servers and overrode some code, replaced it, and then got back out."

"That's beyond the _point._" Jolt groans. "The _point_ is that FANG isn't as much as a thread as we'd originally thought he'd be."

"He had the potential to be so dangerous that we didn't know what he could do to our tributes," I interject. "So we knocked him down a step." Azer smirks from beside me, sprawled out over his chair like a lazy plains cat- dangerous, amused, and gloriously bored.

"It's a long story that none of you need to hear this late at night," he purrs. "The point is, FANG is no longer a tribute killing machine. We've made some changes to his friend-foe system, and he won't lethally hurt anyone until they try to hurt him. His Pairing mechanic is different too, and it's going to be harder for him to bond with one Tribute. In short, we won't have to worry about him murdering our trainees left and right."

"Try dropping hints about not provoking others," Stardust adds. "We can't explicitly tell them a person's sense of self-esteem or anything, you know that. But our job is to prepare them the best we can for the Arena, and now that we know more about FANG and about this… hologram business, we can try and give them the information they need."

"And if they don't figure it out?" Amber sounds worried, fingers twisting through her long brown hair where it's coiler over her shoulder. As one of the more recent Mentors, I can't blame her- and from District 12, no less, this has to be taking a significant toll on her.

"We'll just have to do our best," Stardust answers firmly. "And hope that they'll figure it out on their own."

o0o

**A/N: I lied, we're moving on to the Chariot Rides after this because I couldn't come up with a whole lot to write for the train rides and ended up with a fairly pathetic 2k chapter. This was a lot easier to write, and you wouldn't have gotten anything out of that last chapter anyways, just me rambling about some of the tributes and you coming away with the fact that Sash is gay and a rockstar, which we basically already knew, so. Chariot Rides next! (I promise ACOMAR will be more organized than this.) To clarify for any of you who are confused, NIXON is Jolt's personalized AI. Based off of JARVIS, from the MCU, if you didn't assume that already. Short chapter, (not even 1k, I'm ashamed of myself) but I needed to get the point across that they did something to FANG, because it matters. Where the next chapter is longer, I don't know when it'll be out, but I'll try not to take too long writing it.**

_**Trivia: Which Hunger Games did Stardust Moonglade win?**_


	17. The Moon Is Rising

"_Show and tell_

_On display for all you fuckers to see_

_Show, you tell_

_Harsh words if you don't get a pic with me…"_

_~Show & Tell (Melanie Martinez)_

**Lauren Silver (18) District 3 Tribute**

3 hours in the Remake Center has my skin smoother than silk, eyebrows plucked into a graceful sweep, and my legs screaming in absolute agony when the cool material of my dress brushes against them. _Good God, how can anyone _stand_ this? _The two Capitolites who had greeted me once we were off the train are still buzzing around me, high voices and constant chatter loud in my ears as they adjust the straps on my shoulders.

"You look gorgeous, darling!" One of them, who is sporting some sort of tornado-esque cloud of lime green hair on his head, chirps, and the other quickly agrees.

"Yes, yes, very stunning!"

_Ugh._ These _people_\- with their bizarre accents and strange fashion styles… I can barely stand to be in this room for another _minute_, much less the next hour we have before we're called down to the chariots. Luckily, my stylist isn't as bad as these two. But all she's doing is sitting in the corner and smoking, so I'm not sure what to think of her. I hope Harold is having better luck. Harold… the poor boy. I hope he's alright. He spent most of the train ride here in tears, and the rest of it hiding in his room and refusing to come out. We haven't even met the other tributes yet- the Chariots will be the first time when all 24 of us will be in the same room. It's a bit daunting, really, and to be completely honest, I'm not sure being seen with a 12-year-old as my District partner is the best first impression. People will probably think I'm too bust mother-henning him to do much damage and not pay any attention to me. Even if I have three days of training to make myself noticed, but there's nothing much that I _could_ do, is there? I have no experience with weapons, like the tributes from 1, 2, and 4. I don't even have the advantage of living in constant fear of death from starvation or the like in the lower Districts, like 11 and 12. _I guess that I'll have to be the one doing the noticing then_. That's… an interesting thought. I've never really _analyzed_ anyone before, but I have been told, many times by people _other than my family_, that I am a very good judge of character… and I'd rather surround myself with friendly, _real_ people than bloodthirsty hunters. I'm not here by choice, and I'd like to have my last days be with people I can forge a real bond with and care for in the ways I know how. I might not be a medic, but I know the power of a gentle touch and a soothing voice. And I think everyone in this building needs at least a little bit of comfort and reassurance. Speaking of… "Can I see Harold?" I ask suddenly, and Tornado-hair- I couldn't catch his name, so Tornado-hair will have to do for now- glances up from where he's bent over a vast selection of what appears to be eyeshadow palettes. He glances towards my Stylist, but she's asleep now- mouth half-open and a string of drivel on her chin- before nodding.

"Be quick, though," he warns. "If she wakes up to find you gone, there's going to be hell to pay later."

'Thank you,' I mouth at him, and he nods, a genuine smile crossing his face before he turns back to the table. Carefully stepping over the assorted shoes that are currently littering the floor of the dressing room, I carefully turn the handle on the door, swinging it open- only to find Harold on the other side, hand still on the doorknob. Surprise flits across his face, before he breaks into a huge grin, opening his mouth on what very well could be a _very loud_ greeting. Slapping a hand over his mouth, I don't have time to savor his expression as I ease the rest of the way out of the room and close the door behind me with a soft _snick_. As soon as I remove my hand, Harold fixes me with what he might consider a rebuking stare. It's actually adorable.

"What was _that_ for?" he hisses, and it's a conscious effort not to snicker.

"My Stylist is asleep," I answer in a quiet tone. "She'll kill me if she wakes up and I'm not back in the room, so whatever you were going to tell me, make it quick."

Harold blinks up at me for a moment, eyes big. He finally settles on, "You look very pretty in that dress."

And that's just too cute, and I spare him a small smile. "You look very handsome in that suit." I return, and he blushes, glancing down at his shining shoes.

"I've never been in clothes this nice before," he admits, and I have to agree. His shirt is probably more expensive than some of the houses I've seen on the outskirts of our District. "This is weird."

"It is a bit overwhelming," I allow, and Harold nods, nose pinching up as he tries for a wise expression. "Now, why were you about to walk into my styling room? I could've been naked, you know." I tease, and his cheeks grow even redder, and he takes a step back.

"Sorry!" he mutters, gaze back on the floor. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, that was stupid of me, sorry, I should've thought more, and I usually do, so I'm really, really sorry and-"

"It's alright," I chuckle. "You're a very smart kid, Harold. Must have been a spur of the moment decision."

"Yeah," Harold says immediately, visibly scrambling for an excuse. "Yeah, that's it. A spur of the moment decision." he must realize how panicked he sounds because he snaps his mouth shut for a moment before continuing in a much calmer tone. "I just wanted to know if we were going to look at anyone for allies during the Parade." _Oh_. That… wasn't what I was expecting. The embarrassment and his flustered response to my light teasing, yes, but not _strategic thinking_. Especially this early in the pre-Games stage. Some part of my surprise must have shown on my face because he quickly backtracks. "Is that too much? Are we supposed to, like, wait and bide our time? I didn't mean that we should put in a formal request or talk to them about it, but…"

"Well…" I answer slowly. "I don't think that we should do anything final, yeah, but it's actually a really good idea to scout out the competition. Well thought of, Harold!"Another wide grin spreads across his face, and he's almost buzzing with excitement and pride as he nods, before offering a shy little wave and retreating down the small hallway to his own styling room. I wave back, and when the door closes behind him, I stand there for another moment, playing the conversation back in my head.

_Harold Lachin. You may have some surprises left in you yet._

o0o

**Elwood Liang, (14) District 7 Tribute**

As ridiculous as _we_ look, it's clear that many of the other Districts were blessed with better Stylists then we were. Danielle is fuming in her corny lumberjack outfit beside me. The only _good_ thing about it is the large axe she has over her shoulder. With the malicious looks she's sending around the room, she could very well get some Sponsors just because of the way she's glaring and the way her slender hands are curled around the handle. Note to self, _do not cross scary axe girl_.

In front of us, the Tributes from 6 are standing far, far apart, the girl sending sulky glances towards the boy, who is gazing out over the crowd of Stylists, Mentors, and fellow competitors with a look of studious boredom plastered over his face. A quick look behind shows that 8 is faring much better, and Sash Radcliffe- yeah, that's right, the fucking _rockstar_\- is in deep conversation with his District partner. He's certainly a sight to behold- his Stylist has certainly done a good job with him. There's not much on him in terms of makeup- just some simple enhancements that bring out his eyes and dark, dark lipstick with a sort of sheen to it that makes his mouth look absolutely _obscene_ in the dim lights. What really makes him stand out is his outfit. Chains looped over a shoulder, around his neck, fishnet tights, and a gaping, frilly shirt that leaves barely anything to the imagination. _Holy hell, he's going to be a hit_. _Probably be the new face of many, many nightly fantasies. Shit._ Unlike us. Because as much as both Danielle and I minded our manners and smiled at all the right times on the train rides, either our Mentors didn't put in a good word for us, or our Stylists are still idiots and also stupid as hell, because while Danielle has the axe, I am dressed as a _tree_. Not even a _respectable _tree. Just straggly branches and a baggy brown bodysuit. Good _grief._ She's a _lumberjack_ and I'm a _tree_. It would be funny if it weren't so embarrassing. Indeed, at least five others have glanced this way and pointed at us, laughing behind their hands and whispering to each other. _Well, fuck you too._

"Ooh." A quiet voice speaks up from behind me, and I whirl around to find the boy from 11- Mic?-casting an eye over my costume. "Bad luck with your outfit. And with your District partner's as well. It's Elwood, right?"

He's not too bad himself- a sweeping golden robe and a crown of gold shaped like stalks of wheat on his head. "Yeah," I answer, and he nods slowly.

"It's strange," he confesses, eyes darting around the room. "To be around this many people in this many nice clothes. We didn't have anything like this back in 11. If too many of us were in one place at once, the Peacekeepers would pull their guns on us. They never shot, but I think they would have."

"They weren't much better in 7," I sigh. "They'd chase me all over the District, just because I found a stray firecracker and set it off in the marketplace."

A small smile pulls at Mic's mouth as he tilts his head to the side. "Did you really?"

"Yep," I snicker. "The looks on everyone's faces was _priceless_. Pity I couldn't take a picture, but I had to haul ass outta there before I got shot or slapped in handcuffs." Another nod and this time Mic stays silent, looking towards the entrance of the large tunnel. He eludes a sort of steady, mellow vibe, keeping his shoulders curved in and head down. "Hey," I ask suddenly, acting on impulse. "Do you want to ally?" At this, Mic's head comes around so fast that I'm surprised he didn't get whiplash.

"You would want me for an ally?"

Well. I hadn't really put a lot of _thought_ into the question when I asked, but thinking about it now, it's making more and more sense. "Yeah," I say slowly. Of all the times I've acted on impulse, this is probably the best thing that's come out of it in… I dunno. _Years._ "You're from 11, right?" This earns me another nod, and Jesus _Christ_, how many times is this guy gonna _do_ that? "So that means you must know at least something about what's edible and what's not." Mic nods. _Again_. Okay, I'm seriously doubting my offer if all he's going to do is _nod_ and not talk.

"I'm what they call a Collector," he says slowly, and guess what, he speaks after all! "I go up into the mountains to get the plants and herbs we need for the week. My friend runs a sort of apothecary, see, and offers out tinctures for varying forms of sickness and the like. He's old, now, and I'm the one who has to go and get everything now." _Alright, that's actually kind of cool. _What's not so cool is his next question: "But what do I get out of this alliance?"

"Someone to talk to," I respond promptly. "I tell great jokes and am the _best_ comical relief and tension-reliever." At Mic's quizzical eyebrow, I groan. "You're no fun. Loosen up a bit, will you? Anyway, I've worked at my father's lumberyard all my life and am good with an axe. I'm also quite at home in a forest, and while I'm shit at climbing, I know a good hiding place when I see one and can usually tell if you'll fit somewhere or not." Mic seems to consider this for a moment, pursing his lips and staring at the floor for a long moment before answering, holding out a hand.

"Alright then, Elwood. You seem to have just gotten yourself an ally."

"Awesome," I grin back, shaking his hand because isn't that what you do when you make very official statements?

Mic opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by my Stylist, who bustles over in a cloud of blue hair and lipgloss.

"Elwood, get a move on!" she exclaims. "The chariots are out in less than a minute!"

Ooh. "Sorry," I call to Mic, as Pyrite hustles me back towards Danielle and our chariot, the dark brown horses snorting and shifting impatiently.

Mic just smiles and backs away, raising his hand in a small wave. "Until the Training Center, Elwood Liang," he calls back, and then Pyrite is helping me up onto the platform beside Danielle in a rush of perfume and odd-smelling hair product.

"Do us proud, Elwood," she winks, and then, before I can register the fact that _this is really happening, I'm a tribute of the Hunger Games and about to be put on display and look utterly, utterly stupid,_ she's slapping the horses' rumps, startling them into movement, and we're going forward, getting closer and closer to the darkening sky at the end of the tunnel.

And right before the chariot bearing the District 1 tributes rolls out into the night, Tiberius Hearthstone's rolling voice echoes out over the not-so-distant roar of the crowd. _"Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes of the 26th annual Hunger Games!"_

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District 1 Tribute**

"_It is my pleasure to introduce you to the two Tributes kicking off this parade, Thames Venturi and Halliday Frost of District 1!" _

The screams that greet us as our horses prance out of the Remake Center are deafening. A sea of color greets me as I turn my head, first one way and then the other, taking it all in. Twilight is quickly setting in, and firelit braziers cast everyone in flickering light and dancing shadows. _Smile for the Sponsors, Thames,_ I remember and quickly paste a winning smile over my face. _Make yourself likable. Gain Sponsors, because, like it or not, they're probably one of the best chances you've got of surviving these next few weeks. _Bastion and Valiance told me to come back, to win, and now that I'm here, I plan too. I'd much rather come home and stand on my own two feet than be laid into a six-foot grave while my two best friends cry over my grave. _Chin up, shoulders back, smile. _So smile I do, spreading my left arm out wide before bowing dramatically to the crowd. The noise rises, and roses are suddenly being flung down upon us, at us. Halliday reaches up and catches a white one, and she gives me a small grin, bringing it to her nose and inhaling delicately, before blowing a kiss into the crowd. I myself barely manage to catch a rose coming right at my face, and a stray thorn digs into my hand, sending sharp licks of pain up my arm. _A rose among thorns. A thorn among roses. Kind of like me. _A drop of blood slips down my wrist. I ignore it, smile through the pain and lower my hand, casting an eye over the flower. Your classic red rose. Like the ones a boy gives to his sweetheart on Valentine's Day, a holiday that was celebrated centuries ago, back when Panem was still called America. How… quaint, for someone, most likely a rich Capitol snob, to be throwing roses, a declaration of love, for 23 children going to their deaths, when they don't even care and are only there for the potential profit and entertainment. Nevertheless… I risk a short glance to the screens, and yep, that smile is still there. The screams are still loud in my ears, drowning out my pounding heart. _Welcome to the Capitol, Thames Venturi_, I tell myself. _Where nobody gives a damn about you or your problems. _ Casting another glance to my District Partner, concern instantly springs to life at the tears steadily sliding down her face. But even through her tears, Halliday is smiling, glowing and stunning with her flowing dress and the thrown roses that she'd taken and woven into her dark hair. My eyes flit down to the rose still in my hand. _Maybe…_ the crowd is still calling our names, and the road to the President's balcony is long before us. _Maybe we can make them scream even louder._ "Halliday!" I call, but my voice is quickly lost in the cacophony of everything else. "Halliday!" I try again, louder this time, and she glances at me, green eyes alight.

"Isn't this amazing?" she yells back, and I have to laugh because _it is_, the feeling of absolute, twisted love and attention is _drugging_, even if we're only days away from our imminent deaths. _They accept us. Accept us exactly as we are, because we may be nothing but playthings and toys to them, but for now, in this moment, we are their favorites,_ and I _understand_ Halliday's tears.

"Do you trust me?" I ask instead, ask her, instead of all the things I want to tell the sky, and her eyebrows wing up. Well, I suppose that's fair. Trusting each other is a surefire way to get yourself killed.

"What are you thinking of?" is the answer I get, and a real grin steals its way across my face.

"Play along."

Her face when I turn and drop to one knee before her is _priceless_. 'What are you _doing?_' she mouths at me, and I just smirk back.

"Play along, princess," I remind her, before offering the rose, laid flat on my bloody hands. It's strangely symbolic, the action, and even _I_ can see the scene we must be making. Lowering my gaze to the chariot floor for a count of three, I glance back up at her from beneath my lashes. Shock and some other emotion that I can't place whip their way across her face, gone as quickly as they came, only to be replaced with a mask of complete serenity and dignified grace. The face of a queen. The face of a goddess. Her gloved hand floats through the air towards me, plucking the rose from my palms as she gives it an easy whiff. What she does next is so unexpected, so _completely cliche_ that even _I'm_ taken by surprise. Setting the rose between her teeth, Halliday looks up, into the audience, and gives them an almost feral grin. Goddess-Queen indeed. Better add warrior to that list, too, because the hand she offers to me and uses to haul me to my feet is strong, the power hidden in her arms belied by her slim build. "Well done, your highness," I admit, once I'm back on my feet.

Halliday beams back at me, delight shining on her face, her red, red mouth curved into a gleeful smile around the rose. The adoring screams of the crowd almost drown her voice out, but I can still hear her over the roaring Capitolites. Taking the flower out of her mouth, absolutely _resplendent_ in her gown of gossamer and silk, roses weaved into her hair like a crown, she crows, "I could spend the rest of my life like this!"

"Are you sure?" I yell back. "Forever's a very long time!"

But, oh yeah. We're immortal and untouchable, and the world is bathed in beauty.

Halliday only laughs and twirls around, long hands reaching for the rising moon as glitter falls and catches on her pale skin, coating her in starlight.

o0o

**Athena Sheir (18) District 2 Tribute**

Even with Aegis statue-still and ice-cold beside me, I refuse to let my spirits be dampened as I wave to the crowd, at the strangely dressed men and women on seemingly every side. _A-the-na! A-the-na! Ae-gis, Ae-gis, Ae-gis! _The chants of our names take me back to District 2- so alike to the situation we're in now, and yet so different. There, we were surrounded by friends and family, by people who knew us as who we were and not some dressed-up version of us that has almost never been seen before. Here, it's so _easy_ to see through the veneer of grinning masks and clapping hands to the sadistic, gleeful faces underneath, cheering as we're displayed like show dogs before they enter their final competition, which will end in spilled blood and terrified screams. _Keep waving, Athena. Keep going. Make them like you. _Despite my best efforts, Aegis seems to be capturing more of the attention than me- his head held high and dark gaze firmly planted someplace on the horizon. _Then again, most of the audience in this area are girls. But who says they can't recognize a powerful female when they see one? _In determination, I raise my chin that little bit higher, smile with all my teeth at a woman who eyes me dubiously. A surge of pride rushes through me as she shrinks back, and I turn my attention back to my District partner. For all his imperious disguise is fooling the crowd, from beside him I can see the glassy sheen to his eyes, the blankness of his mask as the horses continue their way down the avenue. "Aegis!" I say into his ear, and he refocuses, slides his gaze to me. "You alright there?"

A slow blink. Then, "Yeah. I'm alright. Thanks, Athena." There are no more words between us for a while after that, and I redouble my efforts, angling my head in a predatory movement like I'd seen Bloom do countless times in her Games, usually right before she landed the killing blow. The slight shift makes the golden crown nestled into my hair slip, just a little, but I don't dare reach up to adjust it. _Shit. Better be careful about that._ Next to me, Aegis is still maintaining his disdainful attitude, but this time his eyes are alert, now watching the screens. I take a peek at them myself, just in time to catch District 12 rolling out. A bird of fire and a soot-black crow greet me. The girl, dressed as a phoenix, is a colorful contrast to the dark hues of his feathers, and I almost wish that I could see the look on in her eyes, which are obscured by a masquerade mask, as the crowd gasps in delight as she and the boy spread their wings, hers large enough to overlap his as they come into the moonlight. I almost pity them though, because the Capitolites, as well as the screens, have found something more interesting than them because the crowd goes absolutely wild when the boy from District 1 offers his partner a rose like it's an engagement ring.

"I feel so bad for District 12," I mutter to Aegis, whose gaze remains fixed on the screens, an odd expression on his face. Oh, dear. "Aegis?"

Shaking himself, he turns his attention back to me. "Yeah?"

"Did you even hear a word that I said?"

He raises a broad shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "No, not really." It's clear that he won't say anything else on the subject, so I change tactics.

"Where did you go?" I ask. He maintains his regal posture and expression at my question, mask firmly in place, but confusion is in his eyes as he meets my gaze. "When we came out of the Remake Center," I clarify. "You seemed a bit spacy."

"Oh." At this, he ducks his head a little bit, which could have either been by chance or because of the rose flying towards us. I duck as well, which makes the crown slip that much more. _Shit… don't fall, don't fall, not until we're on the way back_. "Just a memory," is his belated answer, and I forcefully shove all thoughts of falling crowns and whatever symbolism might be behind them out of my mind. To my surprise, he continues, "My best friend, Leo, gave me a necklace when he said goodbye to me." His hand slides up to his throat and draws a silver chain out from beneath his chestplate. A silver snake pendant dangles from his fingers, the emerald that serves at its eye glinting in the firelight. "He told me he wanted it back, from my living hand and not from my dead body." _I bet there are at least three different people in chariots like this who have been told the same thing,_ I think ruefully, but keep my mouth shut. Definitely _not_ the best thing to say, especially to my District partner and probably ally. "And I don't know if I can do that, Athena," he admits, as our horses begin to file into the City Circle. "There are 23 other kids here, and they all have to die in order for me to go home. I've been trained for this all my life- _we've _been trained for this our entire lives, but I don't know if I'll be able to go through with it." My instant reaction is indignance- does he really think so highly of himself and so lowly of the rest of us?- before the rest of his words really register. _I don't know if I'll be able to go through with it._ "I'm going to become a serial killer in less than a week, Athena." Aegis breathes, as President Seren Dagger steps out onto the balcony of his mansion, spreading his arms wide in welcome. The boy's next words are so soft that I have to strain to catch them, even though the noise of the Capitol is quickly fading at a single motion of the President. _"I don't like what I'm becoming."  
_

o0o

**Elwood Liang (14) District 7 Tribute**

"Welcome!" Seren calls out, voice easy and practiced. Well- he has been giving this welcome speech for 26 years, after all. "Welcome! Tributes, we welcome you!" _Here we go again. How many times is he going to say that word? He's' almost as bad as Mic and his nodding! _"And we salute your courage and your sacrifice." _What a load of absolute bullshit. _We all know that the Capitol does no such thing. They laugh when we fall down and cheer when our blood spills across the earth. They clap wildly when a tribute raises the severed head of another child in victory, and romanticize the moment when the future Victor drives a crossbow bolt through the throat of the boy he loves. "And we wish you Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" The crowd goes absolutely berserk as we start into movement once again, and Danielle winces, her hands moving to cover her ears before she thinks better of it and instead balls them into fists at her side, the axe now gone- thrown at a section of Capitolites most likely. Pity that it was only a show weapon, with no edge to it whatsoever. That would've been a huge- ahem- hit. It's hard to tell who they're cheering for as we go back down that long, long avenue towards the Training Center. Behind us, Sash and his female counterpart (mainly just Sash) are getting quite a bit of attention, but that's to be expected, for a rockstar of his international status. District 1 put on quite the show on the way down, but they're fairly keyed down now, the boy only grinning and waving as the girl keeps her head held high beside them. And just before the chariot from 5 re-enters the Training Center, the boy, crowned in lightning bolts with- is that a hammer? Yeah, it's a hammer- at his side, flings his arms wide and lets out a high-pitched cackle, turning his face towards the sky and fiery hair glinting in the torchlight. _That's a bit… unnerving. Do not cross scary axe girl and psychotic laughter dude. _

Our chariot finally makes it out of the public eye, and Danielle is off the platform before we even come to a full stop, making a beeline for the girl from 3, and is quickly joined by the partner of the boy dressed like the Thunder God of ancient myths. Huh. Well then. It's not just Danielle who can seek out alliances. Shrugging off Pyrite as she sweeps over to attempt to guide me towards the elevators and the tower that will be our home for the next four, five days, I race over to where District 11's chariot has just made it into the Training Center. Mic steps down from the chariot easily, offering a hand to his District partner, who gives me a quick, critical once-over before turning back to Mic. "I hope you know what you're doing," she warns.

"Hey!" I protest, and a small smile crosses Mic's mouth before he clasps a hand on her shoulder.

"I'll be fine, Nat," he assures. "Don't worry about me. Stay safe, yeah? Find yourself a good crowd."

"I will, Mic." Nat answers, and ducks away, heading straight for Danielle and her group, she and the 3 girl having been joined by the phoenix from 12, and are standing close, arms linked around each other. They open for Nat, though, and start weaving their way through the crowd, towards one of the elevators waiting open to take the four of them to their selected floor. Interesting. I turn back to Mic, but he's still watching the girls, lines of worry creased between his forehead and lips pursed as he tracks them across the massive room.

"Hey," I reach out and grip his arm, squeezing until he rips his gaze away from them and looks towards me. "She'll be okay. Danielle's a nice girl, she'll take care of her."

My ally hesitates, before murmuring a barely audible, "Okay."

"Besides," I continue. "She has three girls from lower Districts with her. And the girl from 3 seems nice enough. I'm sure they'll get on."

Mic nods (_again_). "There is strength in numbers." He says quietly, before stopping to consider his words. "In numbers… is there anyone else you want to talk too?" _No, not really_. But I should probably make it sound like I was at least paying a _little_ attention to the Reapings and the way some of the other Tributes were acting.

"Erm." I cast a desperate eye around the room. "The girl from 9, maybe? I was looking at the 3 girl, but her District partner could be beneficial, he looks kinda smart. And then the girl with the rockstar- allying with him might draw too much attention from the other Tributes if we're just going to try and fade into the background, but he might've told his partner some interesting things."

Mic blinks at me for a moment, before his mouth quirks up again. "That was… actually really smart, Elwood. Especially the bit about Sash and his partner."

_Noted. Especially because I just pulled that bit about Sash and his partner out of my ass. _"Thanks!" I grin instead. "Is there anyone you've had your eye on?"

"Yep," Mic confirms. "So, just a recap, we want Scythe, Harold, and Santeena?" I hum my agreement, and he claps his hands together. "I was just thinking that Lancia from 6 would be a good addition. She made a little dash for it when her name was called, and she could be our scout or something. Check the area before we settle down and make camp, and then Brandon from 10. He's got some muscle to him- nothing incredible, but we might need it. You know," he repeats. "Strength in numbers."

"Sounds good!" I beam. "I'll get Harold and Brandon, and you can see if you can hook the girls?"

"I can do that. See you over by the elevators in a few?"

"See you there, ally."

o0o

**Lauren Silver (18) District 3 Tribute**

The smooth glide of the elevator does nothing to obscure the noise of my racing heartbeat, which is pounding triple time as the numbers blink up. Natalia, the 11 girl, had offered her floor because it had seemed that her partner had made other plans. Her shoulders had been slightly slumped as she handed over this piece of information, and it warmed my heart to see Aveline immediately wrap an arm around her, and assure her that Thorne had promptly squashed any hopes of an inter-District alliance with her on the trains, saying that he worked better alone and that she, quite frankly, would slow him down. The girl in question is currently perched on one of the handicap bars installed in the elevator. I'm not quite sure why a handicapped person would be riding the Training Center elevators until I remember the Victor of the very first Hunger Games, Eliza Wraithe, who had her left leg blown off by a suicide grenade that her District partner had set off so that she could win. Aveline's fingers are drumming relentlessly against the metal, flitting about her face, tugging on her sunburnt ears. Clearly, the encounter we had with the Careers had gotten to her more than she wanted to let on. When Nat had made it over to us and we'd exchanged hurried greetings, as well as very informal ally offers, the four of us began weaving through the crowd towards the far wall and the lifts that would take us to our floors. Aveline was in the lead, ducking under arms and sliding around legs, using her small size to her advantage. But she'd mistimed one step, and ended up crashing into a mass of midnight and silver. We made it over to her just as she'd gotten back to her feet, shying away from the dark stare of the Career boy from 2. He hadn't said anything- just swept a single eye over her, up and down, before his lip curled and he stalked off towards where his District partner dressed in gold was waiting, alongside the regal pair belonging to 1. They had glanced towards 4, but neither seemed interested in joining them, the boy giving them a cursory glance before guiding his shivering partner into an elevator, alongside their Mentor, Escort, and Stylists.

"You good?" I ask, reaching out to cover Aveline's hand with my own. Even with a weight atop it, the girl still twitched, fingers jumping beneath mine.

"Y-yeah." she exhales, and Natalia's arm slides around her waist, giving a reassuring squeeze. "I was just caught off guard, I suppose."

"We'd do well to steer clear of them." Danielle agrees, taking her chocolate brown hair out of its ponytail and combing it over one shoulder. "They're bigger than we are, and trained."

"Yeah, I might have noticed that," Aveline mutters. "_Especially_ the bigger part."

"There's a comment there that I'm not even going to make." Natalia declares, and we all break down in laughter. It feels _so good_ to smile, and while there's a very, very good chance that all four of us will be dead within the next two weeks, we might as well take some good memories with us, and if we do only have a maximum of 336 hours left in our lives, we should make the most of them.

Once we've calmed down, Danielle stretches her arms above her head, glancing down at her outfit with distaste. "That parade was probably the most mortifying thing I've done in my entire life," she says in disgust, and Natalia nods her agreement. "You two can't say anything!" Danielle protests as Aveline opens her mouth. "You actually looked _brilliant_. Especially that dress, Lauren." She does have a point there. Before we'd gone out, Tornado-hair, whose name is actually Tamlin, handed me a remote, telling me to _push this button when it's fully dark, or when the crowd starts cheering for another District. It'll drag their attention right back to you two, I swear on my life_. Swearing on his life had seemed a bit much, but I took it, and, when the sun had vanished behind the lowest turret of the President's castle (he calls it a mansion, but I beg to differ) I had done what he asked, and true to his word, the crowd and _oohed_ and _aahed _as bright blue lines of zeroes and ones had begun playing across the silver material of my dress and the black fabric of Harold's suit jacket.

"It was pretty cool," I admit. "The firebird thing you had going on was nice too, Aveline. Nice wings."

Aveline raises one arm helplessly, and Danielle only just avoids being knocked over by a huge swath of fabric and feathers. "They're really, really heavy," she says. "Like, my arms are going to be very, very sore tomorrow morning."

"At least you weren't a _lumberjack_." Danielle grumbles. "When your District partner was a _tree_."

"That was pretty funny." Natalia snickers and that only serves to send the rest of us back into laughter. "You looked _so_ pissed when you came out."

"I _was_!" says Danielle, with no small amount of indignance. "Did you see me throw the axe at the crowd when we were about halfway down?"

We chorus our agreement but are interrupted when the doors to District 11's floor slide open with a _ding_. Natalia is the first to step out, spinning around in a circle as she takes in the arching ceilings and expensive decorations.

"Well, girls," I announce, striding out of the elevator and over to one of the plush couches beside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that make up one side of the room. "Let's talk strategy."

o0o

**Athena Sheir (18) District 2 Tribute**

Everyone is unusually quiet as we step off the elevator onto District1's floor. True, the silent rejection of 4 had been unsettling, but not even Thames has said a word on the ride up, just ran an amber eye over both Aegis and me- although, unless something's wrong with my vision, he lingered on the sharp line of Aegis' cheekbones, the strong curve of his jaw and the set of his mouth. _Maybe that whole show he put on with Halliday really was just that. A show._ Azer, who had slipped onto the elevator right as the doors were about to close, had watched him with a small smirk as if he knew exactly what was going on. Halliday is shifting from foot to foot beside me- she'd kept the flower crown, but taken the smaller braids out of her hair, and the wavy strands curled around her finger as she surveys the room.

"Something's not right," Aegis says quietly. "Someone's here."

"Thank you for that observation, Captain Obvious." Azer snorts.

"I don't know where our other Mentor is," Thames offers. "It could be them." At this, Azer shakes his head but doesn't offer anything more.

"Our Stylists and Prep Team were still at the chariots when we left," Halliday adds.

"So that means another Tribute is here." I breathe.

A low laugh sounds somewhere to my left, from one of the couches in front of the TV. I spin that direction, but Thames and Aegis beat me to it, a blur of silver and black and gold tackling the speaker to the ground. Halliday arches an eyebrow as she walks over, flicking on a light as she goes. The bright glow momentarily makes me flinch back, but when my eyes refocus, Aegis is straddling the boy from 5, elbow against his throat and knees bracketing the other boy's body so he can't make an easy escape. Thames stands poised a few feet off, ready to move if the need arises.

"Asher Foster." Aegis snarls and the boy laughs, wild and untamed and amused.

"At your service," he snarks back, his voice strained when Aegis digs his elbow in that much harder.

"What the hell are you doing here," Thames demands, and there is no question in his voice, as he steps forward. Aegis slowly rises and moves to stand beside the boy from 1.

"I figured you would be here," Asher mutters, sitting up and rubbing at his throat ruefully.

"That's not an answer," I say quietly, and Aegis moves aside so I can join them. Halliday comes up on Thames' other side, green eyes narrowed, tracking every motion as Asher carefully gets to his feet."

"Go back to 5, Foster." Her voice is icy, unyielding as she stares the Wolfchild down.

"Hey, now." he protests but shuts up when Thames takes a threatening step forward.

"Why are you _here_, Asher?" he repeats. "What made you decide that it would be a good idea to sneak onto a Career floor and think you could just demand whatever you want from us?"

"Pure, unbridled stupidity?" Halliday offers, and a small smile tugs at Thames' mouth.

"Sounds about right," I say, and a low growl slips from Asher's lips.

"Is that all you know how to do?" Azer scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets and sauntering forward, gloriously bored and infinitely amused. "Growl like a dog every time someone says something you don't like? What are you going to do next, start pissing on everything to mark your territory?" And, oh, this is familiar. This is the Azer Feyran we'd seen in the Arena- cruel and frozen over, delighting in the pain of others and laughing at their failures. "Someone needs to teach you some respect, Wolfchild. If an alliance is what you want, then ask for it, and we'll go from there. But don't sneak onto _my_ floor and make yourself at home like you own the place. Keep yourself in check from now on, and _maybe_ I won't tell Stardust about this."

"Azer," Thames says. "Please. Leave us to it."

"No," Asher jumps in, jaw clenching as he draws himself up to his full height. "If he wants to pick a fight, he ca-"

Azer just walks away. Turns and stalks into the dining room, vanishing around a corner.

A beat of silence passes. Two. He doesn't reappear.

Asher's lips pull back from his teeth in a growl. "I swear-"

"It's not a good idea to let him stay here," Halliday murmurs to Thames, soft enough that I have to focus on her words and it takes me a moment to sort them out. "Tension is too high, something might happen."

"Let's try," Thames insists, equally quiet. "We can always boot him out if it comes to that. But I don't want to make an enemy out of him if I don't have to. We'd benefit from having him in the Career Pack this year, at least for a little bit."

"Why did you come here, Asher?" I try again. "What do you want from us?"

A hollow laugh works its way free from his throat, and then he's striding towards us, shoving past Thames and Halliday, heading for the elevator. "I was going to offer an alliance," he says over his shoulder. Finger on the call button, he snorts, shaking his head. "But if I'm going to be torn down the minute I'm somewhere you don't expect me to be, the minute I don't follow orders like a good little dog, I don't think I'm all that interested anymore. Who's the leader here?" We share a quick glance- we hadn't really talked about it, and, really, Aegis had mentioned on the train rides that he would rather work as one unit than a group of people under the command of one specific person- but Asher is staring at us expectantly, and we need to make a decision. Fast. Halliday raises an eyebrow, slides those green, green eyes towards me. _No. I'm not the one who needs to take the brunt of this. _I'm still not even sure what went down a few minutes ago, much less ready to talk about it. I incline my head towards Aegis, who smiles slightly and gives Thames a small shove forward. _It makes sense, at least for now._ Thames is the one who confronted Asher first and probably has the best chance of getting closer to Azer. Although I'm not sure what good that would do, not after tonight. The whole exchange must take less than ten seconds and _what is taking that elevator so damn long, just get him _off_ this floor_ because the way Asher is looking Thames up and down reminds me of how a cat studies a piece of prey. Right before as it prepares to pounce. "Right," Asher drawls, and the doors finally, _finally_ slide open behind him. "As if I'd let myself be bossed around by someone who doesn't bother to cover up his flaws for the Capitol. This is a _game_, Thames Venturi, and it's a game that I don't intend to lose."

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District 1 Tribute**

"Jesus _fuck_," Aegis whispers from behind me after the stainless steel doors shut. "Someone please explain to me what the _hell_ just happened."

_Flaws, flaws, flaws_.

"We've just gotten ourselves a very, very dangerous enemy," Halliday says, matching him tone for tone.

_As if, as if, as if._

"That… escalated quickly," Athena exhales from behind me. "What do we do now, Thames?"

_What do we do, what do we do, what do we do._

I can _feel_ the three pairs of expectant eyes on me. "I don't want to be the leader," I rasp. It would be embarrassing, I suppose, how my voice cracks on the last word, how obvious it is that Asher's words have affected me this strongly.

"You don't have to be!" Athena rushes to assure me, and I want to lash out, to tell her not to pity me, that this is my own problem to deal with it, and I should know how to by now, but I _can't_. Not when she sounds so sincere. Not when Halliday is floating over, steps silent on the marble floor as she opens her arms for a quick hug. The same emotion I had seen earlier during the Parade is on her face again, but I ignore it in favor of accepting her embrace. We break apart after a few seconds, but there's a gentle touch on my back soon after. _Aegis_.

"Come on, Thames, sit down. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, much less listen to him. One foot in front of the other."

_Stop acting like this! _I reprimand, moving towards the couches, where Athena and Halliday have already made themselves comfortable. _It's nothing you haven't heard before, this should be no different_. But it is, though, somehow, and the words are playing on a loop around and around and around in my head. _Flaws, as if, doesn't bother, it's a game_. Somehow, I make it to a chair. Somehow, I make it through the discussion, manage to find some semblance of calm and stillness in the tumbling sea of _not good enough_ and _imperfect_ and _ugly_.

_We're taking the Cornucopia- if anyone stands in our way, kill them. We've been trained for this. Put it to use._

_We're working as a single, cohesive unit- no leader, no commanding figure. _

_We're staying together in the Training Center, and we don't get anywhere near Asher Foster. _

_If there's anyone who catches your eye, reach out to them and offer an alliance. We can always kill them in their sleep if we have to. No big deal, right? _

It's a simple conversation, but it takes _hours_, and by the time Aegis and Athena say goodnight and depart to their own floor, my eyes are stinging and my head is pounding from the effort of holding up this disguise.

"Thames," Halliday says, and I _can't_.

_Fucked up, what's wrong with him, his skin is weird, why is he like that?_

That's _it_, that's the breaking point, and I'm crumbling, folding in on myself, wrapping my arms around my knees and trying to hold myself together, keep myself from shattering into a million tiny pieces like fine crystal glass dropped on the floor. I'm broken, broken beyond repair, because the piece of me, the one nestled right up against my heart, the piece that seeks for acceptance, for recognition as a beautiful person, has been neglected one too many times. Left in a dark corner that no one will ever think to look for it. I can mend myself with time, everybody does, but there will always be something missing, because, _acceptance_.

It's like something heavy has perched itself atop my chest, sharp talons digging into my skin and puncturing my lungs; it's like it's wrapped a hand around my throat and it's squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. _Squeezing_. I can't breathe. I can't _breathe_.

Fuck, this _hurts_, and I feel like I'm dying. Could be dying. _Shit_. I should be grasping, desperately gasping for air, and my insides are _burning_, and my entire body feels so _weird_, and-

And I- can't- _breathe._

"_Thames!"_ Halliday's voice, sharp as a diamond, cuts through the haze that's in my head, the shadow that has a chokehold on my throat, that has its claws dug through my lungs. "Thames, _breathe._"

Air rushes back into my body, my chest expanding freely, and the fog clears, everything is clear again, and the voices are back, _his voice is back,_ pounding through my skull again, again, again.

I'm stumbling to my feet, and she's calling after me, Halliday's calling my name again, trying to bring me back, and she might have brought me back once, but there's nothing, _nothing_ that can help me here. Blindly scrabbling along the walls, I find the nearest door and open it, stumble inside, kicking it closed. The door slams behind me, but I can barely hear it over the blood roaring in my ears. I stumble to a halt before the sink, my knees threatening to give out from under me. I clutch at the countertop, desperate for some semblance of balance. Asher's words are still echoing in my head as I grip the white marble, knuckles turning the very same color from the strength of my grip. _His flaws, his flaws, his flaws. A game that I don't intend to lose. _Bathroom. I'm in a bathroom, and bathrooms always, _always_ have- I look up, slowly, dread pooling low in my gut.

My reflection stares back at me, eyes hollow and splotches of ever-growing white spreading across my skin, and I'm _done_. _Revolting. Ugly. _Is this what I have become? If it is, I can't face it, can't stand it, and before I know what I'm doing, I draw back my arm and slam my clenched fist into the mirror. I barely feel the shards of glass digging into my hand, as they spiderweb cracks spiraling out from the point of impact until the whole thing simply _shatters_, right along with every shred of confidence I have left. I collapse to my knees, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, and I do not have the strength to keep them from falling, from continuing in a steady stream which shows no sign of stopping. Not until I've dried out, not until every drop of liquid in my body has evaporated. I'm crying, rocking back and forth on the floor like a small child who needs to be held because I _remember_. I remember everything that they've whispered about me for the last six years. And it _hurts_.

o0o

**A/N: Alright. I completely dropkicked about half of what everybody sent me in terms of… well, everything, but other than that, I'd like to think that chapter was okay! Also, I absolutely love that I can start writing longer chapters now, it's quite freeing. I'm really sorry if that came out wrong. That probably came out wrong, but I'm not deleting it! Quarantine has done bad things to my brain, and if you're reading this, you will suffer with me and also from all my horrible innuendoes! Feedback is always welcome, and I hope you're all staying safe and healthy :)**

**One more thing. So, all things aside, my personal life, what I do, ignore all of that, and what you know about me and listen to this from a young woman. (And friend, just do me this favor) As, like, probably none of you are aware (unlike about a couple hundred-thousand people), One Direction's 10th Anniversary is coming up. This is going to sound very, very odd, but I figured I'd ask anyway, as a Directioner. We are trying to get both **_**Drag Me Down**_** and **_**Story of My Life**_** to 1 billion views before July 23rd, 2020. All I'm asking you to do is just go watch the first **_**40 seconds**_** of each video. Just look for **_**Story of My Life**_** and **_**Drag Me Down**_** on YouTube and find the one posted by One Direction's verified YouTube channel. All I'm asking for is about 100 seconds of your day. That's not too long, is it? **

**And oop- I lied, there's another thing. As far as alliances stand, this is what they look like so far:**

_**We're Wide Awake Now (Careers): **_**Thames Venturi (D1M), Halliday Frost (D1F), Aegis Harlow (D2M), and Athena Sheir (D2F)**

_**Stand By Me:**_** Herold Lachin (D3M), Lancia Carrera (D6F), Elwood Liang (D7M), Santeena Paige (D8F), Scythe Tonium (D9F), Brandon Scorn (D10M), and Mic Klaus (D11M)**

_**Touching The Stars: **_**Lauren Silver (D3F), Danielle Oakwood (D8F), Natalia Oakly (D11F), and Aveline Wren (D12F)**

_**Among The Hidden (Loners, for now):**_** Mikail Drakil (D4M), Marina Bloyster (D4F), Asher Foster (D5M), Ambrose Volta (D5F), Phoenix Doppelmen (D6M), Sash Radcliffe (D8M), Jordan Wheaton (D9M), Sierra Encantada (D10F), Thorne Raven (D12M)**

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever**_** in your favor,**

**-SetFires (Vixen)**


	18. Something To Prove

"_The sun goes down and the stars come out_

_And all that counts is here and now_

_My universe will never be the same_

_I'm glad you came, I'm glad you came…"_

_~I'm Glad You Came (The Wanted)_

**Scythe Tonium (16) District 9 Tribute**

There are mornings, and then there are _mornings_. I'm woken by a relentless tapping on the door, not unlike the sound of a woodpecker against a tree back home in 9. "Go _away_!" I yell at the door. The noise stops for a few blessed seconds, before starting up._ Oh my God, I'm going to actually kill whoever that is. If that's Jordan, he's going _down. "I'm serious!" I holler, before burying my head back underneath my pillow. _We were up _way_ too late last night_. The boy from 11, whose name turned out to be Mic Klaus, had approached me after the parade, offering an alliance with himself, Elwood Liang, from District 7, and potentially four other Tributes. _Well then._ I wasn't expecting to get something this early, but something is better than nothing, and I'd rather jump on whatever comes my way, in case it decides to scamper off before I have the chance to pin it down because I'm too busy 'thinking things through'. So now I'm in one of the largest alliances in probably Hunger Games history- not even the Careers were this big- they were always six, for some strange reason. Although, these Games might be different, given 4's reaction to the silent offer. And unless they snag two others- such as my District partner or the wild-eyed boy from 5, they're probably going to stay at four.

"Scythe!" Jordan calls again. _Shut up, please, just shut _up… "Come on, it's 7:00! We need to be in the gym at 8:00! Sharp!"

"How are you_ this_ chippy in the mornings?" I grumble but roll out of bed. Literally. "_Ow_." I hiss, hand coming up to rub at the back of my neck.

"_Scythe!"_

Oh. Right. He probably hadn't heard me through the thick wood of the door. "I'll be right there!" But first, I need a shower. Desperately. _This shouldn't be too complicated_, I think, getting to my feet and heading for the bathroom.

Famous last words. When I emerge, pink-skinned and shivering fifteen minutes later, smelling like a freshly picked bouquet, I'm ready to hit something. In the face. With a chair. _Fucking hell, how many buttons does that thing have?_ I'd ended up staring at the control panel for a whole five minutes, shivering naked underneath the nozzle, before biting the bullet and pressing a blue button. Promising, right? Blue usually means cold water. Well, apparently not here, as I was doused in a torrent of bubbles and soap. _Lovely_. Red, then. That triggered a flood of pink, smoke-like stuff, and I had _that_ to thank for the _wonderful_ rose smell that I had going on. When I finally found something that got me water, I spent the rest of the shower cowering away from the alternating stream of scalding hot and ice-cold water that came from the showerhead. _At least I'm clean_. An outfit has been placed on my bed, now neatly made. _Avoxes._ A loose black shirt, made of some sort of breathable material, and pants to match. Billowy enough to look stylish, but trimmed at the sleeves so that it wouldn't hinder us during training. _Nice enough, I suppose_. Pulling on the clothes, I survey myself in the full-length mirror beside my bed. _Not bad_, I conclude, and head out to join the rest of the crew.

Jordan, Harvest, Ethan, and our Escort with the ridiculous name- Glitter, right?- are already all seated around the dining table when I walk out.

"Scythe!" Jordan yelps, scrambling up out of his chair as soon as he sees me. I raise an eyebrow in his direction. It's almost comical- for all his size and muscle mass, he's really just an overgrown puppy- if it weren't for the dire situation hanging over all of us. "Scythe, you have to try this." He shoves a cup of… something, into my hands.

"It's… brown," I observe. "And it's hot. What, pray tell, is this?"

"It's hot chocolate," he answers seriously. "And it's the best thing in the entire Capitol, you _have_ to try it." Prodding me in the side, he gives me a wide-eyed stare. _Puppy indeed._

"What about the white stuff on top?" I ask.

"It's whipped cream," Ethan says, amusement sparkling in his gaze. "It's actually quite good, Scythe. Take it from me."

I eye the mug dubiously. "It looks like melted horse poo."

Harvest dissolves into laughter at this, and a smirk is twitching at the corner of Ethan's mouth. "I'm never going to be able to look at hot chocolate the same way again," Harvest snorts. "_Melted horse poo._"

Jordan's face has crumbled at this, and he stares down at his own cup. "Scythe…" he protests.

"I'm serious! I'm not putting anything like this near my mouth." I say adamantly. Harvest is still shaking with laughter, and Ethan is trying (and failing) to hide his smile.

"It's _fine_, Scythe," he assures. "It's perfectly safe to drink, and you might actually like it. Give it a shot, and I swear on my life that it's not melted horse manure."

"You're sure?"

"_Yes, _I'm sure."

Slowly, I put the cup to my lips and sip at it. _I stand corrected._ Jordan's right, this has to be one of the best things in the entire Capitol. Definitely better than their showers.

"How is it?" Jordan asks eagerly, earlier disappointment forgotten.

Wrinkling up my nose, I answer, "You're sure this isn't horse droppings?" and then almost snort the next sip out my nose as Jordan's face falls. "I'm _kidding._" I gasp, in between bouts of laughter. "It's actually really good, Jordan, honestly."

"_Horse droppings,_" Harvest repeats, and this time all of us are laughing, and I'm clutching at the cup, trying my hardest not to drop it, and maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be alright, just for this one moment. A light in the darkness, before everything goes to hell.

o0o

**Mikail Drakil (16) District 4 Tribute**

_I am living in a world of goldfish._ Yeah, goldfish. You know. Very short memories, short attention spans, and thus, very low intellectual capacity. _Good God, how can anyone stand it?_ My younger brother, Draco, was killed in the 15th Hunger Games, but… well. We both thought _he _was the idiot in the family after our parents left us on the street because we had nothing else to go on. Then again, that was also before we met other children. Which was _quite_ the mistake. Then it turned out _they_ were the stupid ones.

Now I'm here, in the very same place that my brother was. Only, Draco was slow as _fuck_, and I'm much, much faster. _He_ thought everyone was incredibly dysfunctional… I'm not very excited to meet anyone else. Marina already proved to have a very uniform personality- sweet, kind, couldn't hurt a fly, doesn't have a mean bone in her body, Volunteered for her sister, an important figure in 4, which isn't saying a whole lot, given the number of 'important figures' we've got lying around, and has a small crush on the boy from 5. Coral was slightly more interesting- fell for the President a while back, (_disgusting, dear Lord_) unhappily married, and had a string of lovers although none of them knew about her spouse. She didn't seem very happy when I told her all of this, but, well. Every other piece of jewelry she wore was nice and shiny, regularly cleaned, but her wedding ring was dirty on the outside, almost seven years old, but the inside was clean. Removed regularly then. Really, not that hard.

"Mikail?" _Lovely, what do they want now?_ "You still with us?"

Setting my fork down with a clatter, I frown back at Coral. "What?"

"That's exactly what I thought," she sighs.

_Excuse me?_ "You haven't even been focused on the conversation yourself," I shoot back. "You were staring at the corner of the table, eyes completely glazed over, signaling that your mind was elsewhere. Your fingers were drumming on the table, and you should really file for a divorce, by the way, and probably try to get all thoughts of Seren Dagger out of your head because he's in love with the Vice President and he's at least ten years older, that's completely revolting."

"What the _hell?_" she demands, and I get to my feet, sparing a fleeting glance towards the clock. "Wait, where do you think you're going?"

"Training!" I call, pressing my finger to the call button. Marina is beside me in an instant, thrumming with energy (excited to see her crush, wants to impress him, is trying to figure out how, and there's no good way to do it). "It's 7:57, Coral, we're supposed to be there in three minutes."

"Oh, and I suppose you figured that out from the number of times Finerva was chewing her omelet," Coral says sarcastically.

_Um. No?_ "I just looked at the clock." I frown, and tow Marina into the now open elevator. "You know, the one that says 7:58, and we really must be going, come on, Marina, and don't even think of trying to throw knives, your arms are basically wet noodles and you'd fail to impress anyone, much less Asher Foster." My District partner blinks up at me, shock written across her face. "Bye," I chirp to Coral. "Have a nice day, and if your brother has a dog, notify the Peacekeepers immediately, he's the one who killed that one person who's been in the news." The doors close in time for me to catch Finerva's, "Wait, _what?_" before we're whisked down, to the ground floor, and the 22 other children who want us dead.

"In two weeks, twenty-three of you will be dead. One of you will be alive. Who that is depends on how well you pay attention over the next four days. Particularly to what I'm about to say." _Blah, blah, blah._ _This is boring, I'm bored, that memory station over there looks vaguely intriguing. _Effectively tuning the head trainer out, I survey the room in general, along with the people standing in it, signals jumping out at me from every which way. _Slow down. One thing at a time._ Ah, yes. That's better. There, the boy Marina was sending repeated glances at, over her shoulder during the parade- _he's a dragon, fire in his belly, with scales like armor, bright eyes, and glistening claws._ The one standing beside the nervous girl from 6 (flighty, runs away from home often, abusive parent, misses her father and friend desperately) is a snake- coiled lazily in the sunlight, ready to strike if provoked, shedding skins easier than water.

"First, no fighting with the other Tributes. You'll have plenty of time for that in the Arena." A ripple of hesitant laughter goes around the room at that. _Goldfish, I am living in a world of goldfish. _"There are four compulsory exercises, the rest will be individual training. My advice is, don't ignore the survival skills. Everyone wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die from natural causes. Ten percent from infection, 20 percent from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife." _Well, no duh, woman, anyone who knows anything about the wild knows that._ We're dismissed soon after but spend long enough in the circle for me to identify that the boy from 1 had some sort of meltdown yesterday and his District partner was there for at least some of it, the tension between him and the male Tribute from 2 is so thick it's nauseating and the girl from 7 thinks she has a fairly strong alliance and is determined to do her part, but she really can't stomach the thought of killing someone. _Not bad, but you've done better back in 4._ The situation isn't so different here then there- if you don't figure your opponent figured out, at the end of the day, you're going to be dead. There's just a larger time span for me to figure everyone out, and that should be a good thing, shouldn't it? _Was this how Draco felt?_ _Was it the pressure that made him snap and give up? _I'm stronger than my brother, though. Stronger, smarter, and _better_. Draco placed 7th in his Games. _And in mine, I'm going to clinch 1st._

o0o

**Sash Radcliffe (16) District 8 Tribute**

My eyes wander slowly around the training room, roving from station to station. _No, no, no, too many people, I'm shit at knife throwing, no… _I finally settle on the hand-to-hand combat corner. Jordan, the muscular boy from 9, is barely managing to fend off one of the trainers, and that's saying something, for someone of his size. As I watch, the two struggle for a bit longer, before the trainer finally wins out and smashes Jordan's skull into the mat before grinning in victory. _Ouch, that had to hurt._

But I can do better.

I excuse myself from the knot tying station, easily making my way through the gargantuan room. The assistant clearly has the advantage of physical strength- if he were to get his arms around me, I'd be a goner. But I have the advantage of _surprise_ because no one ever expects someone as small as me, much less a rockstar, to know how to fight.

"My turn," I announce as soon as I reach them. Jordan, still lying on the floor, raises his head to look at me, and I smirk down at him. _Go ahead. Underestimate me. It'll be fun._ "My turn," I repeat again, shifting my weight and trying to communicate that Jordan should _please get off the mat because I would very much like to impress those four Careers who are staring at me. _

"Um." The head coach eyes me uncertainly. "Okay. You." He points to one of the smaller trainers, and that simply_ will not do._

"No," I frown, pointing to the man that had been going against Jordan a few moments earlier. "I want him." I've taken on paparazzi bigger than him before.

I can feel eyes boring holes into my back- the doubt is almost tangible as more and more of the Tributes turn to watch this go down. _Wonderful. Well, I do suppose that I always perform better in front of an audience. _

"Are you sure y-" I shoot the coach a hard stare, raising an eyebrow. The way he takes a physical step backward is almost amusing. _Yeah, I've dealt with people like you before. People who think I'm not going to live up to what they all say. People who think I don't deserve everything I'm getting. Well, fuck you too._

"Yeah." I snort. "I can take it."

"Very well, Tramayne. Spar with him." Ah. So that's his name. Good to know, if I make it through these next few weeks.

"I'll go easy on you, pretty kitten," Tramayne sneers, and that's when my temper _really_ starts to flare. That's _Rollag's_ nickname for me, and no one else's. _Strike one._

"No need." I snap and step onto the mat. Tramayne is eyeing me like a cat on the hunt, sizing up some small, helpless mouse. But, despite my height and build, I know that I'm not the mouse in this situation. Because Sash Radcliffe is _never_ the mouse. I grit my teeth and meet his eyes, shoving every ounce of dominance I have into my gaze. He sends all of his roaring right back- not as much as some, but enough to let me know that this leopard has the strength to bite, if he wishes. Lethally.

The whistle that signals the start of the match blows. Neither of us moves, though, and we wind up just standing there, glaring. A slow curl of satisfaction winds through me as his smug expression begins to crumble as I show no move of attacking, simply standing there, with the same smirk staying in its same mocking state. I'm not going to make the first move. I never make the first move. Attacking a fan or a pap is never a good idea unless they've made a suitable threat, and even then, you should wait until they initiate the contact. But in this case, it is simply the need to know how he decides to attack because then I can discover his fighting pattern and pick it apart.

"You gonna move?" he asks mockingly. I don't answer, clasping my hands behind my back. "Your twinky boyfriend isn't here to get you out of this one, you know." _Strike fucking two. Also, please learn how to use your slang somewhat correctly. _I reign in my anger- pull it back towards me and squash it into a little ball, cram it into a box and close the lid. _Don't react. _I do unwind my fingers, though, bounce up on the balls of my feet. _Get ready… _

He pounces. Straight for me, at least 200 pounds of rippling muscle lunging right at me. Slinking away from his attack, I move to another side of the mat. Whirling to face me, I'm hard-pressed not to laugh at the outrage written across his face that I'd dodged him. Agility and speed, that's what I have that he doesn't. Brawn against brain. _Classic._

"You little _bitch_," he growls, and I just blink back at him, completely unfazed by his language. Although… _strike three. _His eyes flash, and his fist comes flying towards me. _Better not get hit by that, don't want to break my nose today_. I duck under the blow, latching onto his arm as he draws it back. Flinging myself to the side, still holding on to the limb, pitching my body weight to the right as he makes another grab for me. He's off-kilter though, and I drive my foot into his side, springing nimbly onto his back and using the combined force of my weight and momentum to drive him to the ground.

Planting myself firmly on his spine, I sit back and force his face roughly into the ground. Hard. I do it again, fisting his hair in my hand and _shoving_. The tell-tale _crunch_ of something breaking is a tad bit satisfying. "You know," I say calmly, staring down at the back of his head, "I would've been a bit nicer if you hadn't brought my boyfriend into this." I slide off him, brushing my hands off, before reaching into my pocket and retrieving a tissue I'd picked up on my way over. Tramayne has rolled over now, nose at an unnatural angle and gushing blood. "You can keep that," I tell him, tossing the handkerchief onto his chest, and stalk off.

o0o

**Sierra Encantada (14) District 10 Tribute**

"_What_ are _those_?" Brandon demands from behind me, watching in horrified fascination as I slide a large portion of some sort of green bean onto my plate.

"They're fried green beans," I read off, squinting down at the label on the counter. "They're actually quite good for you." I twist around to face him as the line slowly inches forward. "They also have the benefit of being very tasty."

"If you think I'm putting those _things_ anywhere _near_ my mouth," Brandon mutters, edging past the pan, side eyeing it with no small amount of mistrust and distaste, "You're dreadfully mistaken."

"Oh, don't worry." Smiling angelically, I scoop up a ladle of roasted vegetables that are marinating in some sort of dark brown sauce that smells like _heaven_ and plop it onto his plate. "These will be much better, trust me. They don't squeak when you chew on them either."

Bypassing the offense I've apparently committed by putting vegetables on his plate, Brandon's face goes pallid as he demands, "They _squeak?_"

"Some of them do," I say, maintaining an innocent expression as I dish some noodles on my plate. Brandon splutters from behind me, and I keep my gaze pointedly fixed on a spot on Jordan's broad back, refusing to give in to the urge to smile.

"_Sierra,_" he groans. "You can't just _say_ things like that, I'm never eating green beans again. _Ever_." We're reaching the end of the serving options, and everyone is breaking off into their own little groups- the Careers, who are now joined by Sash Radcliffe, have shoved two tables, the boy with golden eyes breaking into peals of laughter at something the rockstar just said. A little ways to their left, a group of five girls are at another table, their heads close together and talking in voices too low for me to catch. Everyone else is spread out around the room, with the one glaring objection, six Tributes, all from the lower Districts, clustered in the far corner of the lunch room. "Care to join us for lunch?" Brandon asks suddenly.

"What?"

"I said," he repeats, "Would you ca-"

"Yes, I know what you said." Casting another glance towards the group, I shoot a frown over my shoulder. "I'm just- that's your alliance, right?"

"Yep," he confirms, easy as anything, as if it's completely natural to already have six other Tributes as allies halfway through the _first day of training_. "You're welcome to join us. For lunch, and the alliance. We're not really looking for anything special anymore. We just figured that it would be harder for the Careers to take us down if we all stuck together."

He has a good point. And we would be making Hunger Games history for the largest alliance. Although, that isn't necessarily something most of us would be able to boast about, given the current… circumstances. But still… "Are you sure?"

Rolling his eyes, my District partner grabs the hand that isn't holding my plate and drags me over to the table. "Guys," he declares grandly, "Meet my District partner and our newest ally, Sierra Encantada! She's very loyal, has a good heart, Volunteered for her cousin. Be nice to her."

"Is that a roundabout way of saying that we _aren't_ nice?" Scythe demands after swallowing her current mouthful of food. "I'm offended, Brandon. I offered _my_ floor for the meeting tonight."

"And we all agreed that none of us wanted to the one who booted that massive hunk of muscle who's your District partner off his floor!" Brandon replies, sitting down between the boys from 11 and 7. "Hey, El, make room." He hip checks Elwood, who grabs dramatically at his plate, hugging it close to his chest before shifting over.

"He's honestly just a huge softie!" Scythe protests. "Literally!"

"Doesn't look too soft," Santeena murmurs over her heaping pile of rice, and Elwood collapses into a fit of laughter.

"I'm not saying anything!" the small girl from 6 announces. "I am firmly keeping my mouth _shut_ about that comment."

"Lancia, that's disgusting," Scythe deadpans, but there's a gleam in her eye as she reaches for a glass of water.

"Hey, that one's mine!" Mic exclaims, lunging over the table to snag the cup out of Scythe's reaching fingers.

"Mic, it was _halfway_ across the table," Elwood observes mildly, and Mic shoots up a joking glare, hugging the cup close.

"_Mine_," he reiterates, and I can feel another smile winding its way onto my face. The banter here is so easy- completely at odds with the tension that hangs over everything else, the dark cloud in the distance that grows closer with every passing hour.

"You guys," Brandon says, and only continues when everyone's eyes are on him, "Sierra told me that green beans _squeak_. Like _mice._ I'm not ever eating vegetables again."

"You have some on your plate right now." Mic points out.

"That was her fault too!"

"You know," Scythe chuckles from her place across from me, "I think my story's worse, I compared hot chocolate to horse shit, and probably scarred Jordan for all eternity."

"Hot chocolate is the _best_," Herold jumps in, young face lighting up, and they're off again, bright smiles and easy laughter all around.

_Maybe this won't all end in heartbreak. _

_Maybe we'll be okay._

o0o

**TRAINING CENTER, NIGHT 1**

o0o

**Thorne Raven (17) District 12 Tribute**

By the time Aveline and I exit the elevator and are back on floor 12, both of us are so tired we can barely stand. Years of living on the streets and on the run from Peacekeepers and the occasional citizen alike prepared me for surviving with little food, constantly on the move, and without much to keep me warm at night… but it did nothing for me when we were thrown into the Training Center. It didn't help that our arms were already sore from those wings our Stylists made us wear during the Parade.

"I don't think I can walk," Aveline groans, collapsing against the nearest wall. "Thorne, you have to carry me."

"Not _yet_," I insist, prodding her in the side. "You promised that you would come sit on the roof with me, come _on_."

"I don't ever remember that," she protests, but lets me drag her along. Amber gives us an amused glance from where she's curled up among a nest of pillows on one of the couches overlooking the Capitol skyline. I give her a small wave as we pass, which she returns. Once we reach the door leading up to the rooftop, I let go of Aveline's arm long enough to heave it open, before I'm towing her up the stairs.

"Slow down, Thorne," she laughs, a little breathless, and it might be one of the most beautiful sounds I've heard in the entire world. _Hang on. _What? But yes, that was definitely a thought my brain had. About that laugh. _Crap_.

"Nope!" I say back, and decidedly do _not_ think about the way her mouth curls up into a little grin. _It's only been, what, two or three days? Get your act together_. "Ta da!" I exclaim, as we emerge onto the roof of the Training Center.

Aveline slips her hand out of mine, and whirls around, exhaustion seemingly forgotten as she takes in our surroundings. "It's _beautiful_," she gushes. Racing over to a tree, she runs a small hand along the bark, trailing her fingers over the leaves. "I've never seen one of these trees back in 12 before! Darnia never let us go too far into the forests when we got out of the orphanages."

"I've seen ones like it before." I murmur, coming up behind her. "I don't know what they're called, but I've seen them. They're on the opposite side of the District from where the orphanages are located though, so I doubt you would have seen them, even if your friend had been more adventurous."

"Darnia was plenty adventurous!" Aveline protests, turning to face me. "She was just lookin' out for me, that's all."

"Ah, my mistake," I smile, and she flushes a light shade of red. _Interesting._ I decide not to comment, and instead beckon for her to follow me to the edge of the rooftop. Sitting on the edge, I dangle my feet over the long drop. "Come sit over here, it's really pretty," _Really pretty. Wow. Nice job, Thorne._

"I won't fall?"

"I'll catch you before you even slip," I promise, and who am I to be making promises like that? _You don't know if you'll even be able to keep them_. The words have the desired effect though, Aveline edges closer, lowering herself carefully onto the ledge beside me, leaning her back against a towering stone column.

"It all seems so surreal," she mutters, staring out over the Capitol, bathed in shades of orange and red from the rays of the dying sun. "That this place can be so beautiful, and yet so poisonous. It's disgusting, really. All this… opulent _stuff_." Her mouth twists in a grimace. "It's so different from back home, yeah?"

"Yeah," I agree quietly. "I remember that. Performing in ratty street clothes, barefoot and desperately wishing for some coin so that I could buy myself a blanket to keep myself warm at night."

She glances back over at me, eyebrows high. "You can do magic?"

A small curl of satisfaction ripples through me. _Yes. Yes I can_. In response, I pull a deck of cards out of my pocket. "Picked them up on the way up here. They were on the arm of the couch." I explain, at her surprised expression. "Or, if it pleases you to believe it, I conjured them out of thin air."

Aveline just rolls her eyes, gesturing for me to continue.

Shaking the cards out of their box, I shuffle them around in my hand. "Yes, I can. I saw a show, when I was on the run from some Peacekeepers for stealing some bread. Found a place to hide where I could still watch the show, and bam, that was that." Fanning the deck out in my hand, I offer the spread of cards to her. "Pick a card."

Uncertainty flickers in Aveline's gaze, but she reaches out, plucks a card from the deck, and turns it over.

"Two of hearts, got it. Put it back, now. Anywhere you want." She slides it back into the deck. "Great." I hold eye contact with her as I shuffle. "I approached the woman after the show, and asked if she could teach me. I knew I had something in me, that I could do whatever she asked me to, as long as she explained it to me right. She said yes, and I proved to be a fast learner." I wave my hand over the deck. "Two of hearts, yeah?" Aveline nods. "Great. I can make your card come to the top of the deck, just… like… this." Snapping my fingers, I pluck the top card off the deck, and turn it over with a flourish. Seven black clubs stare back up at me.

"Seven of clubs," Aveline observes.

I wince. "Ah. Whoops. Let's just forget about that, yeah?" I turn, tossing it onto the roof behind me. "Anyway, I was a fast learner. I was putting on my own shows at age eight. I didn't garner much attention for a while, and often went back to my mentor downcast and rejected." I glance back down at the deck in my hands. "Let's try that again." Another snap, and I flip over the next card. "Ooh. Nine of diamonds, not it." By now, my District partner looks severely unimpressed. "Hey, hey, don't make that face at me." Waving my hand over the card, I rub my palm over the surface, wiggle my fingers, and _bam_. "There's that seven. Not quite what we wanted, but…"

Aveline stares, astonished, and I smile. "Yeah, cool, right? Back to the story. I was thirteen at the time, and five years without success was a bit disheartening. I was planning to make that show my last, but an old woman approached me afterwards. Introduced herself as Rosa, and told me that I needed proper clothes to perform in if I was to really catch anyone's eye. She offered to… sponsor me, for lack of a better word, on the condition that I gave her an exclusive magic show every now and then." Aveline chokes on air. _What?_ I backtrack through what I had just said, and _oh_. "No, no." I protest with another grin. "Not like that. Just what I show everyone else on the streets. Could you go grab that card for me, over there?"

Aveline glances over her shoulder. "The one you tossed? The one that was supposed to be the seven of clubs that you just made reappear back here?" She taps the deck.

"Yep," I smirk. "That's the one."

Hopping down from her previous position, Aveline scampers across the roof, retrieving the card and bringing it back, staring down at it with wide eyes. "That's not possible." The two of hearts is sitting in her hand, innocent as can be.

"Magic, darling." I tell her. "Rosa and I worked as partners in crime for a very, very long time." I continue. My heart is starting to hurt at the memory, but I need to get it off my chest. "Right up until the day of the Reaping. I had enough money to pay her back for whatever she had in store for me, and she never asks for payment, but her family needed it desperately." I gently take the card from Aveline's hand. "It seemed like every other day. But…" I swallow hard, forcing my hands to slide the card back in with its companions. "We got caught. Peacekeepers broke into the shop. She gave me enough time to get away, but… I don't think she made it. Last time I saw her, she was being dragged away by the Peacekeepers." I slip the deck back into the box, tucking it back into my pocket with a sense of finality.

Whatever I'm expecting, it certainly isn't what she does next. "Thank you, Thorne." she smiles, slightly crooked and not endearing at all. _Nope, definitely not, get yourself under control, Raven. _"For both the magic, and trusting me with your story."

"Yeah," I force out, around the sudden lump in my throat. "Yeah, sure."

Her fingers brush against mine, before quickly flitting away.

"I'm glad we met, Thorne," she says quietly. "All circumstances considered, I'm still glad we met. You're a good person, okay? Whatever happened to Rosa, it wasn't your fault. She knew the risks she was taking when she started sponsoring you, or whatever she did, and she accepted them when she approached you after the show. If she is dead, and there is a possibility that there is, you need to make sure that you honor her memory. From what you told me about her, it doesn't seem like she would want you sitting here feeling sorry for her and yourself when you could be training and giving yourself a better chance at winning these things."

A choked laugh makes its way out of my throat. "When did you get so wise?"

"The day I'm wise is the day you're ordinary," Aveline chuckles, and _come on, she's only a year younger, it's not-_ woah, alright, stop this _right the fuck now_. _You are not falling for someone you've only really known for roughly 48 hours. _"Besides, Darnia was always the wise one of the two of us. Impulsive and rash as she sometimes was, when she really thought about something, you wouldn't believe what came out of her mouth. I hope she'll be okay," she smiles, turning back to the scene before us. "I remember when I asked her if she would be my best friend, back when we were so, so young. But even at that age, she said she needed a day to think about it. She came back the next day and said yes. When I asked her why, she told me that it was because I needed someone to look after me. She's been doing that ever since that day. Right up until the moment I got Reaped, she looked after me. I never really thought about it until now, but I guess she has. Always."

"Don't talk like that, Aveline," I say fiercely, reaching out to grip her arm.

She looks up at me, confused and glowing in the setting sun. "What? Why not?"

"Because," I say, staring out at a horizon splashed with pink and red. "That's how someone talks when they think they're going to die."

o0o

**Aegis Harlow (18) District 2 Tribute**

Dinner is a fairly quiet affair, Anshar and Bloom exchanging hushed words as Heimda and Athena make smalltalk over the course of the meal. I stare down at my food- all I've done with it is shove it around on my plate and try to look polite- and find the cold bite of silver against my palm._ Leo_.

(_I want it back from your living hand, Aegis. Not your cold dead body._)

Conversation ripples and eddies around me, slowly fading out, fading, fading, fading- _soft lips against mine, a bloody hand tangled in my hair, harsh gasps obscenely loud in the vast space around us-_ stop. All systems _stop_. This isn't the time to be thinking about… that. I need to keep my head straight, my eyes on the prize. Win the Hunger Games, get back home. To my family. To my friends. To… to Leo. _Dammit, Aegis. s. _

"What about you, Aegis?" _Ah, shit._ _See, this is why you can't let him take over your head. Stay in the present, please, you idiot._

"What?"

"Your token." My Stylist, a short, pudgy woman named Trilla, leans over and prods at my chest, fingers grabbing at the silver chain.

"Don't touch that," I say sharply, jerking back.

"It's a very pretty necklace." Trilla sing-songs. "Who's it from?"

"Someone back home," I answer evasively. _Shut up, you don't know what you're talking about, don't push this any further. _I'm already on the edge because Athena decided that it would be a wonderful idea to bring Sash Radcliffe into the alliance, which completely threw me off. He's almost nothing like he is on stage- in real life, upfront and personal, quiet, makes himself small. He's still a ball of sass, and he doesn't put up with a whole lot of shit, but he's easy-going and calm, nothing like the little spitfire we see prancing around with Rollag on tour. _Don't say anything else, Trilla_, because the shadows are already dancing at the edges of my vision, the hissing voice of a serpent is whispering in my ear.

"Aww," she cooes, and I _know_ it's coming, and that familiar, sick feeling is coiling in my gut. "Who is she? She must be a fairly upper-class girl, to afford something like that, maybe I know her family? Oh! Is it the Kentwell's daughter? Slate, right? She's a pretty little thing, good family, nice parents-" and I _snap_.

Anshar's rocketing to his feet, violet eyes sharp, reaching out, and _fuck no._

_I'm not going to let this hurt anyone else. _

"Get _away_ from me," I growl, shoving away from the table and backing towards the hall that leads to our rooms. "Get _away_ from me, get _away_!"

"Aegis," Anshar repeats, and something about the _hurt_ and _worry_ in his eyes, the emotions that I usually find in pools of dark, beautiful brown crack something open in my chest.

"_GET AWAY FROM ME!" _I bellow, and _run_.

I'm down the corridor and in my own room in seconds that feel like an eternity, memories accosting me from every side as I hurtle for the door.

(_"At least you don't have scars down your back from where your parents beat you when you come home late at night!" a voice snaps, _and I don't know where it's coming from, he's everywhere and I don't know where I am.)

(_"Don't you dare pull that on me, Leonidas, not now," _and that's _my_ voice, and I don't even recognize it because it's gone low and guttural and _no, no, nononononononono_)

I'm there, I'm at the door, and I fling it open, bolt inside and slam it behind me. I force my rembing fingers to turn the lock, block out the world, because _no one else can get hurt, and don't let them see you like this, because no one will understand_.

(_His face as he throws himself to the side to avoid the punching bag I've just thrown at him, the blatant shock and confusion there as I advance, sword out and chest heaving._)

_Get out, get out get out get out get out._ I might be screaming, might be roaring, I don't know because the lamp is in my hand and then it's shattering into a million fragments against the wall. Fury is rearing up inside of me, pent up and building, and it's only a matter of time before it takes over completely. And when the moment comes, it's so easy to let it crash down over me, take over, and everything goes _red_.

My hand is already bleeding as I slam it into the full-length mirror that stands beside the armoire, shards of glass embedding themselves in my palm and _I don't care_. I rage around the room, and the creaking groan of wood _snapping_ barely even reaches my ears.

And when there's nothing left to destroy, I hurl my own body against the wall as well, fingers dragging trails of crimson down the plaster. I need to drown out everything going on in my stupid, _stupid_ head, need to white out all of the pain in my heart with the pain of my body. I need a _distraction_, something to keep me from falling into this bottomless abyss that has become my brain.

(_The ring of steel on steel, echoing through the sparring room, his voice raised in confusion and desperation._)

This needs to _stop_, stop _right the fuck now._ My hands are still bleeding, splinters and small chips of wood stuck into my skin and I _don't care_. My eyes catch on the white lines on my arm, the soft flesh so _easy_ to cut into. _YOU ARE IN THE CAGE._ The words carved there stare back at me, almost with reproach. _YOU ARE IN THE CAGE, _because _I am_, because I am my monsters and my monsters are me, and there is nothing I can do to seperate the two of us. Where I am, they go, when I close my eyes, the Gorgon is there to rear its ugly head, roaring at all those I love the most. _Mother. Father. Gladius, Reyna, _Leo.

_(The soft noise he makes when I drag him closer, the ragged moan as I force his arms up over his head.)_

I'm thudding to my knees, and the sharp flare of pain as something shreds into my skin is barely noticable. I think I'm crying, think there are tears, but that's not important. _What have I done, what have I done, what. have I. done._

Surrounded by chaos, I find the constant in the destroyed world around me. I find it in the silver of my token, unnaturally cold against my hand. The emerald eye twinkles up at me, and I can almost see the sparkle in Leo's brown eyes. Brown like chocolate, sweet to taste, that melts at the slightest bit of the heat from love. But that chocolate can also grow hard from the cold, harsh reality that is apparent in the world._ Leo_, and for a minute, the green darkens into brown.

(_"Dry your tears, Age. Dry your tears, because you are strong, and you will survive." There are hands on my cheeks, wiping away the evidence of my weakness, fingers calloused and rough against my face.)_

I choke, pushing down on my screams, beating them back and forcing them into silence. _You are strong, and you will survive. _The hard edges of the pendant slice into my skin, the honed tip of the tail digging into my already bloody palm, and I find myself grateful for the pain. For the reminder, as a drop of blood wells up, before trailing down my hand. Because when you're cut, you bleed, and that's human. _Human. _Not a monster.

Not a monster.

Rocking back and forth, I clutch at the necklace like it's the only thing I've ever loved, and let the blood flow down instead of tears.

o0o

**A/N: Hello everyone! I'm sorry for ruining hot chocolate for you if I did. I think I might've ruined it for myself, there. Urgh. *shudders* Also, Mikail is a bit daunting for me, and I've taken so much stuff from BBC's Sherlock that I'm probably going to get whammied with copyright infringement, but I'm writing fanfiction, so hopefully nothing goes terribly wrong. Fried green beans are actually a legit thing, if you didn't already know, and they're **_**amazing**_**. I had some at a restaurant when some friends and I were in China, and **_**wow**_**. I tried making some at home, though, and yeah. They did squeak. Just thought that would be an interesting fact to put into the story. The card trick that Thorne does for Aveline is called **_**Plan B**_**, I just honestly looked up **_**cool card tricks **_**and that was what came up and looked interesting.**

**Para, it turns out that I have no self-control whatsoever when it comes to writing, so Aegis has a section in this chapter instead of the next one. Thank you so much for redesigning him and giving me a fair few hooks I can pull on to take him apart!**

**The way it looks right now, the Bloodbath will be Chapter 24, and yes, I know that seems like a long way off, given that I update once a week, so that gives us 6 weeks to wait until we get to the bloodshed, but I'm doing my best to churn things out, and maybe things will get here sooner than you think. I don't know, but I just wanted to give you a marker. Updates will now be as frequent as I can make them, but I'll try my hardest to not make you guys wait any longer for a week. Trivia is done now, reviews are everything at this point! If you don't have the time or just really don't want too, that's fine too, because I'm dealing with Sponsor gifts, but it's a nice bonus to have if your tribute gets in a tight spot- if you have enough, you could even buy them a few more days of life! (Not literally, lol, but if they're terribly burnt, and you Sponsor them with some ointment, then… hey, placements are subject to change right up until the Games are over!**

**Alliances: **

_**We're Wide Awake Now (Careers): **_**Thames Venturi (D1M), Halliday Frost (D1F), Aegis Harlow (D2M), Athena Sheir (D2F), and Sash Radcliffe (D8M)**

_**Stand By Me:**_** Herold Lachin (D3M), Lancia Carrera (D6F), Elwood Liang (D7M), Santeena Paige (D8F), Scythe Tonium (D9F), Brandon Scorn (D10M), Sierra Encantada (D10F), and Mic Klaus (D11M)**

_**Touching The Stars: **_**Lauren Silver (D3F), Danielle Oakwood (D8F), Natalia Oakly (D11F), and Aveline Wren (D12F)**

_**Among The Hidden (Loners, for now):**_** Mikail Drakil (D4M), Marina Bloyster (D4F), Asher Foster (D5M), Ambrose Volta (D5F), Phoenix Doppelmen (D6M), Jordan Wheaton (D9M), and Thorne Raven (D12M)**

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever**_** in your favor,**

**-SetFires (Vixen)**


	19. These Words Are Knives

"_The gnashing teeth and criminal tongues_

_Conspire against the odds_

_But they haven't seen the best of us yet…"_

_~This is Gospel (Panic at the Disco)_

**Santeena Paige (13) District 8 Tribute**

_If they want me to put up much of a fight in the Arena, maybe they should consider the fact that some part of my body will actually have to _work_ for me to do anything. _The loud blare of the alarm clock had successfully yanked me out of sleep, and every muscle in my body had promptly gone into revolt. _I didn't even know I could hurt there,_ I think ruefully, struggling into a sitting position. _Ow._ My arms are aching from the time I'd spend training with Sash, where he was attempting to teach me how to shoot. _He_ was actually quite good. I'm a completely different story. I think I actually hit the target a grand total of three times, and the rest, my arrows ended up in… interesting places. One of the Peacekeepers had to hold back Asher Foster, who had barely gotten out of the way of one of my unluckier shots. _Great, I've made another enemy. _And sure, while I may be allied with seven other people, he could easily take two or three of us out before we subdued him.

Groaning, I shove the blankets back, forcing my limbs to cooperate as I manage to get out of bed and into the bathroom. _Ow, ow, let's not put weight on that leg right now, ow. _I don't know if I have the strength to stand up in the shower, but I feel like I need one. My left leg almost buckles again as I step towards the glass doors, and I wince at the reminder of the brutal whumping I had received at the hands of one of the combat trainers. He'd been nice enough about it, offering a hand and helping me back to my feet with a kind smile and warm eyes.

I make it to the shower, and my gaze catches on a dark welt on my arm, courtesy of attempting swordplay. _Yet another embarrassment. Maybe I should just skip training today. _It would certainly feel good- my calves are killing me, and if I have to do one more obstacle course, I'm going to keel over and die.

…

I drag myself out of the shower, toweling myself off and hauling on my training outfit. Unlike the skintight bodysuits of 1 or the light, flowing clothes of 9, it looks more like armor. Unyielding in where we need it to be, flexible where it's necessary. The exterior is hard, patterned like overlapping scales, like that of a dragon in the storybooks. The interior is soft against my skin, though, and doesn't chafe at all against my sore thighs and upper arms.

"You look like shit," Sash announces as I stagger into the dining room. The rest of the team is already up and eating- Faith and Calibre are sitting close together, and the Capitolites, Scarlett, and our Stylists are clustered at the other end of the table. Avoxes are scattered around the room, in strategic locations, always in reach of a fire extinguisher or a dish of food on the serving table against the far wall. I make sure to smile at the one who had helped me to bed last night after I had embarrassingly collapsed halfway down the hall. Sash had been… somewhere, meeting with the Careers, so at least I hadn't made a fool of myself in front of an international rockstar.

Yeah, an _international rockstar_ had helped me shoot a bow. Been patient with me, demonstrated a basic shot time and time again before I _finally_ got my elbow up in the proper form.

I'm still in shock.

Said international rockstar is also literally _licking off his plate_, making delighted noises as he does so. Scarlett looks vaguely disgusted as Sash lunges halfway across the table to get to the bowl of strawberries.

I watch as he picks out a fair few from the container, finding the bowl of assorted fruits, such as grapes and varying types of melons, and placing them on his plate as well. He finishes by upending the syrup bottle over them, looking satisfied.

"Um," I manage, and he glances up, still drizzling syrup over his fruit.

"Hi, Santeena," he smiles. "Ready for training today?"

At the mere mention of it, something inside me lets out a small whimper, shrivels up, and dies. It might have been one of my lungs. I must've made some sort of sound because an amused expression crosses the bassist's face. The syrup is still dripping out of the bottle, and I'm not quite sure where the strawberries are anymore. "Um," I repeat. "Are you…?" I gesture at the syrup.

Sash glances down, raising an eyebrow. "Am I…?"

"He just likes some strawberries with his syrup," Calibre explains indulgently, looking up from his conversation with Faith. "Also, bacon-wrapped cantaloupe."

"_What?_" That sounds disgusting. Who would even _eat_ such a thing?

"They were the only two things that looked appetizing at one of the places we ate at while we were on tour," Sash says offhandedly as if he's not talking about going all around Panem with one of the best singers we've heard who's not on one of the shows that the Capitol occasionally plays on TV over the weekends. "So I tried them together. The combination isn't terrible."

"Sure," I skepticize, before realizing that I've just sassed _Sash Radcliffe_.

"I'm not a robot, Santeena," he says, and I blink. _Did I say that out loud?_ "It's okay to talk to me like I'm a 16-year-old boy who likes weird things and painting his nails and wearing makeup. I'm human too," Sash cards a hand through his hair. "I'm human too," he repeats. "Sometimes, I'm on top of the world, riding a high and feeling untouchable, which most people seem to think I am. But when the show's over, when it's just me and Rollag and the rest of the band, it's exhausting. It's exhausting to have people look at you like you're some second-coming of their god, or place you on a pedestal. They set their expectations so high, think so much of you, and you start becoming afraid of letting them down. You start wondering if they'd really like you for you and that they don't just like you because you're famous." As he talks, he seems to get smaller- shoulders curving inwards, head bowing. "I'm human," he says again. " Just like you are."

o0o

**Mic Klaus (14) District 11 Tribute**

Breakfast is a lavish affair, consisting of fluffy pancakes slathered in butter, oranges that were so juicy that it ran down your chin in rivulets, making your hands sticky and forcing you to wash them after almost every slice. Delight is shining in Nat's eyes as she plucks another slice of watermelon off a plater.

"That's your eighth slice, Nat, is that really healthy?"

She scowls at me, spitting a seed out onto her plate. It skitters along the white surface, stark and black, before joining the growing pile shoved onto one corner. "Watermelon is the best thing to happen to Panem in the last century, and it's no good back home."

Well. She does have a point. Everything back in 11 was solely for the Capitol or the higher Districts, and the only food any of us really got was stale or almost rotten. I don't think we ever got any fruit aside from brown, wormy apples and rotting cantaloupes. If we were really lucky, the Gatherers and I could scrounge up enough money to afford some fresh blueberries which were always a treat. Jagged Mountain, despite being home to all sorts of exotic plants and creatures, did not seem to host any sort of edible food that was just that: edible food. It was always some sort of plant with medicinal properties. We would occasionally find some katniss on the way back down if we were lucky to ever stumble upon a patch, but it would be a rare occurrence. So we had to settle like everyone else. Get by like everyone else, no matter how unorthodox our means of getting our cures were. _I wonder how Norman is getting by without me. I hope the rest of them are taking care of him._ Young Jack is probably the one who tends to him the most- he's the smallest and youngest of the Collectors.

_Enough about home. You are here, it is now, and you must focus on what you need to do._ While yesterday our alliance had focussed on training and working with weapons, today is when we decide who does what when we reach the Arena. We have a massive group of people- and that's a lot of mouths to feed. Yesterday, we had determined that we would need people to risk the run to the Cornucopia- or to at least get some semblance of supplies. The rest of us would bolt and run, locate each other soon after. Then, we would find a place to hide out and make camp. Taking turns foraging and hunting, we would live off the land until the larger and more dangerous Tributes were eliminated. Once it was down to us… well, that was something none of us wanted to think about. Better to get through the first few things, and then play it by ear and just wing it after the first few days.

Today, I will be focusing on food. Snares, edible plants, everything that I can find. Others- like Scythe and Lancia, will be continuing to train physically because they are the ones who will be making a run for supplies. I'm still in awe of their bravery- they have the highest risk of dying in the initial Bloodbath. And yes- the truth of it is, we will probably lose at least one in the mad dash for safety. This is the Hunger Games. Seven of us in the alliance are going to be dead for one of us to win. _One of whom will probably be me, but that's a topic for another time._

Sierra, Scythe, and Lancia are the ones to get supplies. They're the smallest and the fastest. Especially Lancia, and she's had more practice than the rest of us. She'll get in and out of there in no time. Scythe's brutally efficient, and she'd taken to the axe throwing station. She could do some damage if she got her hands on a hatchet. But it's Sierra I worry about. She's so _gentle. _I don't think she could hurt _anyone_, even if it was a life or death scenario. Soft-spoken, the calm head and kind heart of the group, she mothers _everybody_, provides comfort and support when things seem to become too much. And Scythe had chosen _her_ to make the beginning run. It makes no sense.

But… at the same time, I can also see Scythe's thought process in bringing her into the chaos of the Bloodbath. Sierra's the weakest of the alliance- she's smaller than Santeena, and she isn't able to hold a sword. If one of us has to die, her death is the one that would hinder us the least. _It's cruel_. Scythe scares all of us, sometimes- we've all heard of her at some point- she's the daughter of the Head Gamemaker, who left her and her father when Seren offered her a place at her side. Because of her mother's Capitol status, Scythe had risen quickly through the ranks of 9's legislature. She claims to have had no contact with her mother since Skyra's- now known as Valkyrie-disappearance. _Something's off, here_, I remember thinking to myself, as the girl had stared Elwood down from the head of the lunch table. _She's not telling us everything_.

Back to the original subject though- Scythe is _ruthless_. And… it scares me that I _understand_ what she's thinking. I want to say it's strategic thinking. I want to say that I have an aptitude for seeing things through other people's eyes. But I don't. I don't, and it _horrifies_ me that I can think like Scythe Tonium.

"Come on, Mic! We'll be late!"

_It's only been a day,_ I think despairingly. _It's only been a day, and I'm already thinking about the pecking order of our alliance. I'm already thinking of ways to poison the others when the stakes grow too high._

"Yeah, Nat," I say. "I'll be right there."

The chair doesn't make a sound as I shove it back and stand. Nor do my feet, as I head towards the elevator. Everything's gone silent around me, and I can see our Escort's lips moving. I can see Nat's brilliant smile, the elevator doors sliding open with what has to be a _ding_ that doesn't register with my ears.

_You're starting to think like a Tribute, Mic, _my mind whispers into the stillness of my head. _You're starting to think like a Tribute of the 26th annual Hunger Games._

o0o

**Halliday Frost (18) District 1 Tribute**

The line for the knife-throwing station is long, but Athena and I had agreed that it was the best place to start. Sash had mentioned archery, but after a long, long discussion a few nights back, we all decided that we should keep his skills on the down low, and focus on things he hasn't had much experience with before.

"You're a Career now," Athena had said at lunch, managing to look serious and slightly commanding, even with a little spot of soup on her chin. "And even if you are proficient with the bow and arrow, who knows what weapons will be in the Arena?"

So here we are, and Thames isn't even trying to hide the languid sedation in his posture, relaxed and completely at odds with the restless, prowling Career we'd seen yesterday.

"Someone," I observe flatly, "got laid last night."

My District partner swings around. "No, unfortunately, not quite. Close, though. But not quite there."

The first reaction that sparks through me is betrayal. Which makes no sense, because where there is betrayal, there must be a mutual bond of trust and understanding. _We didn't share anything. _Nothing except that moment during the Parade, when he had turned to me with luminous eyes and a blinding smile. _And that didn't mean anything. It doesn't matter that he's bisexual, or that he's not in a commited relationship. Or, well. It doesn't matter anymore. Not that it did in the first place._

_Right?_

Fucking- _get yourself back together, Halliday!_ These thoughts shouldn't even be _happening_. Not after Maximus. Maximus, with his raven's wing hair and sapphire shrouded eyes. Maximus, with his offering of a hairpin. Maximus, with his sexuality that did not provide me with any chance to win his heart.

The girl from 4 finishes her round. I've barely been paying attention, but from the unimpressed snort Athena releases from beside me, it seems that at least one of us was, and the girl was found wanting.

"What is it to you?" Thames asks, arms folded across his broad chest, blonde hair pale in the fluorescent lights. _It's everything. It's nothing. I don't know what it is, and this outfit is too tight and everyone is staring at my breasts and I hate the world._

"I'd just like to know who's favorite parts to cut off when this all goes to shit," I answer pleasantly, pitching my voice low enough so that our other allies can't hear it.

One of his eyebrows wings up. "Never pegged you for the jealous type, Princess."

I can feel my hackles rise at the nickname. _Don't call me that _ever_ again. _"You have _no_ idea what you're talking about," I hiss back, brushing a stray lock of hair out of my face. _Why couldn't we have been given some sort of hair tie, this is getting annoying_.

His other eyebrow joins the next, but I turn away. _Settle down, Halliday. Settle down. Make yourself loveable, because if everyone loves you, they can't hurt you. Find something useful. Find someone to help. _

I turn to the boy at the throwing line, liquid brown eyes hard, and focused solely on the targets before him.

"Your stance is off," I tell Sash. He turns, looks at me with startled eyes, all previous concentration vanishing.

"What?"

"You're standing wrong, and you're holding your wrist incorrectly. Feet like this." I step up next to him. One of the trainers shoots me a look, and I glare right back at him, willing my stare to harden and calcify. _I'm helping my ally, dammit, and if you can't see that I mean no harm, you might want to get your eyes checked._ I widen my own stance, gesturing for Sash to copy me. After a moment's hesitation, he complies, and I grab a knife from the table. "Bend your knees a bit more," I instruct, dropping my own pose to survey his. "Good. Shoulders back. Now loosen your wrist. Throw on the exhale." I demonstrate, and the blade _thuds_ home in the center of the target.

Sash whistles. "Damn. Can you do that again?"

I readily agree, throwing another knife. Then, I take a chance and hurl one with my left hand, and fight down a smile when it strikes true.

"I'll just, like, follow that up," Sash mutters, preparing for his own throw.

"Keep your wrist even looser, it's all about how you snap it," I say back, refusing to let the praise go to my head. _But still. That last knife I threw didn't strike the exact center. _I suppose I'll just have to work my left hand when it's my turn.

Sash obeys, and his own dagger flies. It strikes the outer ring of the lit target. "Well," he allows, eyebrows arching, "That's an improvement."

"Just a bit," I smile and step back.

_If they can't hurt me, then I win._

o0o

**Harold Lachin (12) District 3 Tribute**

The call to stop is music to my ears, and I stumble out of line for the large obstacle course that rims the huge room. Consisting of suspended platforms and swinging targets, monkey bars and dangling ropes, it ends almost where it begins- only 22 feet higher off the ground. A pole is the only way down. Yeah, there are mats to cushion your fall, but if you take a tumble… a broken ankle or a shattered hand are distinct possibilities. _Thank every holy deity_. I don't think I can manage another rep of that. I barely made it through the first two times- not like the dark-haired 2 girl, or the nimble boy from 12.

"_Lunch,_" I sigh gratefully, getting into line, and Lauren laughs from her spot in front of me.

"Hard morning?" she asks sympathetically. Despite the two of us being in different alliances, we aren't afraid to share information or tips with the other. This is a place where the odds are stacked against people like us, with no training or previous combat or survival experience.

"You could call it that," I agree, and spoon a few more heaping piles of rice onto my plate.

"I think that most of the originally selected Tributes die here, and they just genetically modify other people to look like them and enter the Arena." Massaging a spot on her arm, she winces. "This training is awful."

"You can say that again," I agree, reaching the end of the buffet table. "I'd say see you back on our floor, but I have a feeling that neither of us will be there for a while yet.

She nods. "I'm heading up to Danielle's floor with the rest of the girls. You?"

"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to offer my floor for the meeting tonight."

She raises a shoulder in a shrug. "Doesn't matter to me, we'll probably take longer than you do."

We part with a wave and a nod, and I sit down at the table we'd used yesterday. The rest of the alliance slowly fills in, and the conversation picks up soon after. Lancia says something that makes Scythe throw her head back and laugh, Elwood snickering behind his hand. It's scary how naturally we all fit together. Well, almost all. Sierra, the newest addition to our alliance, is perched hesitantly beside Brandon, her District partner.

"It's alright," Mic says to her. "We don't bite."

"Not unless you ask us too," Elwood smirks from behind him, and Lancia sighs into her mashed potatoes.

"Elwood, that's terrible, never say something like that again."

"You were the one who made that _horrible_ comment about Jordan yesterday!" He points out.

"Still, no," Scythe says, but there's badly disguised laughter in her voice. "That's enough with the sex jokes."

Elwood pouts for a moment, sticking his bottom lip out. "But-"

"_No_."

"Fine. You ruin all the fun. At least I make things _interesting_."

Speaking of 'fun' and 'making things interesting'...

"Hey, guys." I point over to the Career table. "Shit's about to go down."

"Language, Harold," Sierra scolds with a smile but turns her head in that direction. Turns out, everyone's looking, with bated breath as Asher slowly, _slowly_ picks himself up off the floor. Sash is leaning back, elbows on the table, a smirk on his face, leg still outstretched. It's an expression that's been broadcasted Panem-wide. He's pissed off about something and ready to fight. We'd seen it yesterday, he'd stepped up and handed the trainer's ass to him in the hand-to-hand combat station, but this is different. More dangerous. Asher must have done or said something _bad_, because the slight girl from 2 is reaching across, arm across Sash's chest, holding him back. _Where's her District partner?_ He'd shown up yesterday for training, but he's nowhere to be found now, and I hadn't noticed him with any of the other Careers this morning.

"Sash," the boy from 1 warns. His tawny eyes are hard as he rises from his spot at the table.

"Have something you wanna say, Venturi?" Asher hisses.

The Career, to his credit, doesn't take the bait. "Walk away, Asher." His tone is bored, face awash with indifference as he clasps his hands behind his back. "This doesn't have to end in a fight."

"Everything ends in a fight," Asher retorts, taking a step forward. The Peacekeepers stationed around the perimeter of the room simultaneously reach for their weapons. "You're a Career, Thames, you should know that." _Thames. _Like the ancient river, we'd learned about it in the schools back in 3. "Didn't your fancy tutors teach you anything back when you were in 1?"

Thames' nostrils flare slightly. He closes the gap between them, standing close enough for a kiss. Asher eyes him warily, and Thames leans in. His lips graze the Wolfchild's ear, whispering something too soft for the rest of the room to catch. He steps back, golden eyes alight. Asher's own gaze is frozen, barren, and empty. A preternatural stillness seems to settle over then. And then he _lunges_. Thames dances back, out of reach, but Peacekeepers are already there. A swarm of white, and Asher goes down, still lashing out, teeth bared and fingers arched into claws.

o0o

**TRAINING CENTER, NIGHT 2**

o0o

**Phoenix Doppelman (16) District 6 Tribute**

The door to my room slams behind me, and I let out the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. The canister of salt trembles in my hand before I force my fingers still. _Breathe,_ I tell myself. Shadows are crowding around the edges of my thoughts, darkness threatening to overtake them. _In control, you are in control, you can keep him back._ I frantically turn on every light in the room- the overhead, the ones in the bathroom, every lamp I can find. The chalk set I had brought with me as my token is still sitting on the bedside table where I left it. Snatching it up, I hurry over to the door, almost ripping the second-to-last piece of white chalk free and scratching a sigil into the inside of the door. The white stands out against the dark oak of the door, and I let out a small sigh of relief before opening the door to do the same to the other side. As I work, I slip into the old mantra I would whisper to myself at night, huddled in the dark when Raven and Dove were out on a date or with friends, leaving me alone our shared living quarters. _My name is Phoenix Doppelman, I am in control, and I can keep him back_.

I'm shaking as I draw the first line across the floor of my room. _I will not be taken over. I will not let him take control. My name is Phoenix Doppelman, and I am in control. _Slowly, ever so slowly, the star takes shape, each line clear and precise against the floor. _My name is Phoenix Doppelman, and I can keep him back. I will not let him take over. _

_Why?_ _Why_ had there been a recap of all the deaths in the last five Hunger Games playing on the massive TV when Lancia and I had gotten back from training? Justin claims that it's for the best, so we know what could happen to us and be prepared for… well, I don't know, to have our throats ripped out or be shot in the eye. But I could feel _him_ leap to life inside of me, teeth bared and screeching for blood. _Killian. _That's what he calls himself when he is posing in _my_ body, speaking with _my_ voice. _Killian_. Hell, I would gladly become Arianna when _he_ is my alternative. _Killian, Killian, Killian. _

The pentagram finally forms beneath my quivering fingers, and I carefully set the salt down. _Almost done._ I retrieve the last stub of black chalk from my set and carefully begin shading around the protective mark. Swooping lines and sharp lines spiral out from my hand, and the symbol is finally complete, massive against the wood floor. I almost feel guilty for drawing on it, but then I remember _why_. Killian is a demon, and if I have to destroy the Capitol's _precious_ wood floors to keep him at bay, then I'll gladly do so.

The chalk slips from my limp fingers, and I slide to my knees. _What am I even doing? This isn't going to work. It never does._ Even if it offers some semblance of comfort, it won't do shit in the end. Because Killian always, _always_ wins, and there's nothing I can do to stop him. If Arianna throws me into a cage, then he buries me in a coffin, six feet under, and it seems like nothing will ever resurrect me.

I'm forced through this every year when I'm forced to sit in front of a screen and watch 23 other children be murdered in the worst ways over the course of two weeks. And… it _sparked_ something inside me. No… no, not some_thing_. Some_one_. I had known about Arianna for some time, then, known that there wasn't something normal about me, but Killian had taken me by surprise, infecting my head with his low, low voice and dark laugh.

He'd just started talking, wondering how hard it would be to cut through human bone, how long it would take for someone to bleed out from a stab wound in the arm when the knife had been ripped out. Once, he had even wondered how human flesh would taste.

That's when I knew, I needed him _out_. I needed to find _exactly_ what would set him free and throw the key into the deepest parts of hell. _Then again, this is Killian. He could very well walk right in and retrieve them without a second thought._

Drawing sigils won't help. Nothing will_ help_, because there is no way to get rid of him. There is no way to cut out that part of my brain that gives him life. There's no way out of it, and I have to live with him for the rest of my life. Which might not be long, but I'm going to be gone sooner than you can even _blink_ if Killian breaks free. A psychopath rampaging through the Arena, that's not going to sit well with either the Capitol _or_ the Gamemakers, and they'll send some mutt to take me out. Well. At least it won't be me who feels the pain.

Killian will fight for his survival, I know that much. He'll fight to stay alive, to revel in the feeling of blood-drenched hands and the sound of agonized screams. _To stay alive._ No matter how twisted he is, he will be trying to stay alive. Just like I will. Just like Arianna would.

_Why are you fighting your demons?_ I wonder faintly, slumping down against the far wall. _We're on the same side, aren't we?_

o0o

**Marina Bloyster (17) District 4 Tribute**

The moon is bright on the rooftop. My legs had protested at the long climb up the stairs to get here, but the view is worth it. _12 is so lucky. This is right above them. If I were them, I would be out here every night. Savor the sight_. It vaguely reminds me of the long nights I'd spend on the beach, just sitting high up on the sand where the waves couldn't reach me, knees tugged up to my chest as I stared and sang to the moon and the voices that only I could hear. There is no time for singing now though, not when my every step is analyzed by one of the trainers or my creepy District partner.

'_Mikail things he knows you,'_ a voice whispers to me. _'He doesn't see you as any particular threat. Use it against him.'_

'_No one knows you, though,' _a second voice hisses. _'You never told anyone. Not even William.'_

"I didn't know that I wasn't normal!" I argue back, glancing around the rooftop for a suitable place to sit. "It wasn't until I learned that _you guys_ weren't normal and that regular people don't hear voices inside their head harassing their every move!"

'_You should have told someone,' _voice two accuses. _'You're the mayor's daughter, you could have gotten help.'_

"Shut up," I snap. "My parents would have thrown me in the Howling House if I told them anything."

'_They would have wanted you to be cured. They wouldn't have thrown you in there. You should have told them. Or that fisher boy, who you love so dearly. He would have done anything in his power to help you, but you stupidly Volunteered, and look where you are now. You'll be dead within the week.'_

"You don't even know what you're talking about," I mutter, slumping down with my back against the wall separating my body from the thirteen-story drop to the ground below. "You don't know what it's like to be worried about your sister's health, every second of every day. Emily means the world to me."

'_And you gave her another chance to live her life to the fullest,' _the first voice soothes. _'You potentially saved her from a gruesome, violent death.'_

'_And potentially, most likely, secured a gruesome, violent death for yourself.'_

"Shut _up_," I whisper, running my fingers through my hair. "You know _exactly_ what scares me most, don't bring that up."

'_Death? Death comes for everyone, there's nothing you can do to stop it. Your time has just come earlier than most.'_

"You know that's not it." I snap back. "I don't care about myself."

'_You're scared for your family,' _the first voice is back again. _'You don't want them to have to watch you die.'_

'_So you _are_ afraid of death!' _the second voice says triumphantly.

"That's not _it!_" I yell, and there's a shuffling sound behind me. A cough causes me to whip around to see Mikail standing in some distance off, not quite out of earshot. "What do you want?" I demand, still panting slightly from my previous outburst.

"What-" he starts, before cutting himself off with a frown and a shake of the head. "Marina, are you okay?"

_Yeah, I'm perfectly alright, I just have two voices talking to me that no one else can hear, and I want to know why only these two decided to show up tonight because there are usually seven. _

"I'm fine," I say decisively. "I'm fine, Mikail. You should go back downstairs."

His eyes narrow. "What about you."

"I'll join you in a moment."

He looses a low, annoyed breath. "I come up here to hear you shouting at the wind and having a very intense, very _one-sided_ conversation. Forgive me if I think something's up."

"I already told you, I'm fine!" I huff, shaking my hair out of my face, resisting the urge to tap my foot until he leaves. "Go back downstairs, Mikail." 

Mikail ignores me. He starts pacing over the rooftop, back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. "This isn't adding up," he grumbles. "_You_ aren't adding up, _what is wrong with you?_"

'_Yeah,' _ the second, hissing voice chimes in. _'What's wrong with you, Marina Bloyster? I can see why they call you Seafoam back in your District, you're scatterbrained and crazy enough, kinda like the way it blows around on your beloved beaches.'_

"That doesn't even make sense," I say, raising my eyes to the clouds. "How do those two things even relate?"

"Marina, _what the fuck,_" Mikail growls somewhere behind me, but his comment is drowned out by the thundering ocean tide.

"Shut _up_!" I don't know if I'm talking to Mikail or the voices now. It doesn't matter, because I need all of them _gone_. "Just, just go away and _leave me be._" I don't bother to check if Mikail listens.

Shutting my eyes tightly enough that sparks dance in the field of blackness that follows, I envision the ocean behind my closed eyes. Remember the calls of the gulls and the smell of sea salt. Beat back the reaching hands that try to pull me into the deep depths of the sea and instead kick for the surface. _Drown out the evil. Drown out the evil, and let the salt cleanse you of all evil. _An enchanting melody is somewhere up there, a siren song that I cannot ignore. Unconsciously, I hum the alluring tune under my breath, before opening my eyes. The voices do not return.

A huge smile explodes across my face, and I leap onto the wall of stone that loops around the rooftop. My bare toes curl around the edge, and I grin up at the moon before letting the melody that thrums in my chest unfurl into the night.

"_Won't you come with me,_

_Where the ocean meets the sky_

_And as the clouds roll by,_

_We'll sing the song of the sea…"_

o0o

**Asher 'Wolfchild' Foster (17) District 5 Tribute**

Coming to is like having a bucket of ice water dumped all over me. I thrash upwards, and there's a rustle of fabric as someone jumps to their feet from beside me. Scrambling back, I run into a wall of pillows. I'm in my room on floor 5 in the Training Center, I realize. I wet my lips. "How-" My voice is ragged, even to my own ears. "How long was I out?"

"It's 9:00 at night," a girl says, and I lift my head to see Ambrose standing by the door. "You've been out for a while." _God. What did they give me?_ When I voice the question, a humorless smile crosses her face. "You scarred at least three of them, Asher."

_What? _

"No, literally," she chuckles, hollow and echoing in the empty room. "Your nails are sharper than they look, and so are your teeth."

_Oh._ Now I remember. Thames' velvet wrapped voice in my ear. The flood of emotions it loosed inside me like they were the final rush that shattered the dam in my soul. _Call me whatever you like_, he had said to me, soft as a lover. _Call me whatever you like, but you… _you_ are nothing more than a coward._

_Nothing more than a coward. _

There's a plate of food and a glass of water on my bedside table. I'd eat, but I can't seem to dredge up the appetite to do so. The water though… my head is absolutely _aching_.

"Are you okay?" she asks, and it's my turn to let out a sharp cackle.

The world's spinning and I want to vomit, but, yeah. "I'm okay." My head continues to pound, sharp and heavy.

"Stardust's pretty pissed."

"Stardust can go to hell," I manage, squeezing my eyes shut. Bright lights dance behind my closed lids, swimming in time with the throbbing of my skull. _It would have been better if I'd stayed in 5. Better to have died there. _Because here, all I've caused is pain and suffering. At least there I'd had a purpose, something to do, people to lead and take care of. Here… there is nothing for me here. I see it in the way they look at me. I'd already made five enemies out of the Careers, and everyone else shies away from me like I'm some rabid beast that needs to be put down, but no one dares approach. _Suitable metaphor, given that I am the Wolfchild._

"Private sessions are tomorrow," Ambrose murmurs. "You should be glad that this confrontation happened today. They've banned you from interacting with any of the other Tributes. I shouldn't even be in here."

Swallowing is an effort. I lick my lips again, trying to rid myself of the dryness in my mouth and the acrid taste there. "How is this going to work, then?"

"Once District 12 has completed their private sessions, you will go down once everyone is out of the room. You will be escorted by multiple Peacekeepers readied with more drugs should you step out of line." Her voice trembles as she speaks, and she's looking at everything except me. "As for the interviews, the Capitol cannot know about what goes on in here. So…" she gulps and places a hand on the doorknob.

I sigh. "Ambrose, I'm not going to bite. I can barely find the energy to listen to you, and don't think that I could make it three steps from this bed." All true. My limbs are like lead, and it feels like my head is filled with cotton.

"So you'll be placed in handcuffs right up until it is time for you to go onstage."

My eyes go wide. _Handcuffs?_ "That's- that's a bit extreme, isn't it?" I croak, and she lets out another snort, again devoid of any feeling.

"What you did to those Peacekeepers was a 'bit extreme', Asher. You almost gouged someone's eye out."

_Alright, I guess I can understand that._ "And?"

"And what?"

"And what else?"

"There isn't anything else, Asher," Ambrose says, clearly nettled. "Can't you see? You _attacked_ seven Peacekeepers and sent one to the hospital. You're a loose cannon, and deadly enough that no one can take the risk of getting too close."

Deadly? _You are nothing more than a coward._

"When I'm not performing for the Gamemakers, are they going to keep me drugged?" I couldn't care. Let them execute me. There's a good chance that it'll be less painful than what some of my fellow Tributes may have in store for me.

"For what you did in the lunchroom?" Ambrose shrugs. "Until launch, perhaps."

Let them put an end to me, too, and add my death to their nauseating kill count. At least in the Arena, I might have a chance. _You are nothing more than a coward. _

"That's absolutely _lovely,_" I grit out, reaching for the cup beside the plate.

"That water's drugged with sedatives," Ambrose says quietly. She doesn't meet my eyes, as she turns the doorknob. As if she's afraid of what she'll find there if she does.

_You are nothing more than a coward._

"Good," I say icily, and swallow it in a single gulp.

_You are nothing more than a coward._

o0o

**A/N: Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Song credits go to **_**Song of the Sea (Lullaby) **_** by Nolwenn Leroy. For those wondering, the symbol Phoenix drew on the floor of his room is the sign for anti-possession in the show **_**Supernatural**_**, and the one on the door is the devil's trap. And, you guys, I don't know **_**shit**_** about Dissociative Identity Disorder. I've probably fucked quite a few things up already, and if you see any errors, please let me know right away! I mean no harm, I'm just clueless in this area. :(**

**The next chapter (maybe two) will be the private sessions and score reveals, so we have that to look forward too. I did try to give your Tributes scores within the preferred score range, and I hopefully manage to make everyone happy! In the meantime, stay safe, please be respectful of the people around you, continue to stay six feet apart, wear the god-damn mask, and wash! your! hands!**

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever**_** in your favor,**

**-SetFires (Vixen)**


	20. I'm Taking Back The Crown

"_Teach me how to fight_

_I'll show you how to win_

_You're my mortal flaw_

_And I'm your fatal sin…"_

_~Warrior (Beth Crowley)_

**Jordan Wheaton (16) District 9 Tribute**

It's hard to believe that it's the third day of training already. Everything seems to have gone by so fast, and I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. If this keeps on, I'll be in the Arena before I know it. And that's definitely a bad thing. _Or is it a good thing?_ No, no, it's most definitely a bad thing, because if I'm not prepared for this, I'm dead meat. I'm strong enough to heft a broadaxe and use it with some decent precision, but if I don't use every hour I'm given to my advantage, my chance of living will continue to decline. I need to raise it, not lower it. And the best way to do that is to earn Sponsors. It makes my gut churn at the thought of putting on a show to impress these sadists, but it's something that has to be done for me to get back to my family. To Aaliyah. Aaliyah_. _That kiss… that kiss shattered me and remade me and killed me and breathed life back into me. _And I would do anything to get that feeling back_. Killing isn't ideal- I don't know if I can go through with it, swing my axe or scythe and end another human life, but I know that I will have to do it at least once if I am to make it out alive. _I have to make it out alive. _I have to get back to her and my family. _Oh, Anthony. Mom. Dad. Calen. Aaliyah._ They are what is waiting for me back home. They are who I am fighting for. _Make it out alive._

But first thing's first. Get Sponsors. And the next opportunity I'll have to do such a thing is… today. Today, because today is the day of the private sessions. We'll have the morning to train and get warmed up before we're called in one by one after lunch to show off our skills to the judging team that Valkyrie Summers will have placed before us. _They want me to show how well I can kill a person. Show how I have no qualms about doing so._ It goes against everything that's ever been taught to me, where I learned 'Thou shalt not kill'. And here I am, in the Capitol, and soon, there's going to be a whole lot of killing going on. _You've just got to tough it out, Jordan,_ a voice whispers in the back of my head. _You've just got to grit your teeth and do what needs to be done. _

_Do what needs to be done_. Killing. Killing other _children_, who are exactly like me and have friends and family waiting for them back home, begging for them to make it, make it, _make it_. I don't know how I can bring myself to crush all their hopes and dreams. How can I? All of them have been thrust into this, except maybe the Careers, but how can any of us be _ready_ for this? Even with years of illegal training beneath your belt… I don't think there's anything that can prepare us for what we'll have to do in the Arena. Each of us could have our entire lives stretching out before us, ready to live and laugh and run down, but no. At the end of the month, 23 of us will have come to a bloody, tragic end and there will be one left standing. And becoming Victor, despite the promises of safety and wealth and everything else the Capitol promises… becoming Victor ruins you. It destroys you. I've seen the hollowness in Ethan's eyes as he stares out a window when he thinks no one's watching. I've seen the slump of Harvest's shoulders as she turns away, her gaze unfocused as if she's reliving some terrible memory. If I win… if I win, I will have had to do terrible things to get back to 9. _Will Aaliyah love me then? _Will she still love a murderer, who forced himself to cut down other kids like stalks of wheat under his scythe? And as much as I want the answer to be _yes, she will, she loves you unconditionally and no matter what, she will always be there for you_, I _don't know._ I don't know, and that might be what scares me most of all. _She promised to love me,_ I remind myself. _She promised that she would be waiting back home with open arms. She knows what has to be done. She knows, and she accepts it_. But words are so much easier than actions, isn't that the old saying? Easier said than done? And once she sees a head rolling on the screen of their small television back in 9, courtesy of _my_ axe… will she rethink her words? Will she wonder what she's done, and feel horror and revulsion towards the boy representing her District? Will she be ashamed of him? Ashamed of _me?_

_Thou shalt not kill_.

If I make it to the top, to the Feast, it's a simple rule. Kill or be killed. There is no way that I can wait it all out, pray that someone else will do the hard part for me and I just sit by and retain my innocence. None of us will come out of the Arena without blood on our bodies, whether it be our own or that of unfortunate others. _None of us_.

_Thou shalt not kill_.

I took an oath, once. I swore that I would never kill a living creature without looking them in the eye as they died, and holding them as they fell. I promised that I would say a prayer over their dead body, and ask for them to be blessed and accepted into that land of milk and honey. _And to that oath, I will hold._ If there is one thing I can control in these Games, it is my own actions. _I will not break another promise_.

_Thou shalt not kill_.

_Well, Lord,_ I think to myself, a grim smile crossing my face as I sit down at the lavish table across from Scythe, who gives a tight, nervous grin in return to my nod. _I don't seem to have a choice if I want to live, do I?_

o0o

**Natalia 'Nat' Oakly (17) District 11 Tribute**

_Shit._ I sit up in bed, ramrod straight. _Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT._ Today's the day, isn't it? Today's the day of the private sessions, which has the potential to either make or break us in the Arena. If we don't get a noticeable score, then Sponsors will just look over us. Look over us and go for the flashier, deadlier Tributes and pay no attention to those of us who tried our damn hardest and still didn't prove satisfactory. _They'll notice you once you're in the top 10_, I try and reassure myself. _They'll notice me when I'm the one who puts an arrow or a knife through the last Career's throat. They'll notice _me_ when I'm the only one left standing_. But that just _isn't_ _enough_, sometimes. Because in the Arena, no one knows what could happen, and if there aren't outside forces looking out for you, you're left on your own. And sometimes being on your own isn't enough. _Some people learn that the hard way._ I remember one of the Tributes in the last Games- the boy from 1, who pulled a training score of 2 and declined the safety that the Career Pack offered. There wasn't a white parachute that came down with the burn medicine he needed when he was caught in the ring of fire. The Careers made it out, not unscathed, but they healed quickly due to gifts _they_ had gotten from their Sponsors. The boy from 1 had done nothing astonishing, nothing to catch anyone's eye until he died. And I _will not die_. I will not die in these Hunger Games, because I am the Victor and I will rise to the top. I've stayed quiet, kept my head down these last few days, but I won't any longer. _Today is the day for me to prove myself. _If I get a score anywhere above 5, then that will be enough. Not many Tributes from the lower Districts get scores higher than 4 or 5, and I plan to be the exception to that assumption.

Mic has been sharing information with me left and right over the last 48 hours- telling me everything he's learned, even though we're in different alliances. I traded tips on how to handle a weapon for what types of plants to eat. What to look out for when I'm in the wild on my own. How to track, whether my prey is an animal or human. I plan to test his knowledge in my session. _But he'll be focused on the survival stations. _If I want to distinguish myself from him, I'm going to have to do something he most definitely wouldn't. Which is why I've been turning my attention towards weapons for the last two days. Although the activities and training might be grueling and make me want to die each night as I drag myself through our floor to my room, it's paid off. Even in the little while I've spent here, I've packed on weight. My arms are stronger than they were before, and calluses are beginning to form from the hours upon hours I've spent with a sword in my hand. Back home, I'd tried to teach myself how to use a sword, picking up heavier branches that fell in our backyard and practicing slashing and stabbing, imagining an opponent like Azer Feyran or Harvest Moon. I'd imagined them giving me tips, stopping our sparring to point out the weakness in my grip, where to strike, how to parry. And then my mom had met Jacob. Jacob, who'd indulge me and pretend to spar with me in the backyard, while my mother looked on with an expression torn between fondness and fear. I hated seeing that look upon my mother's face, but I needed to be ready. Jacob agreed. _Prepare for and expect the worst, _he told me once. _And you will never be caught off your guard. _

Now, here, all that seemingly foolish practice is proving itself. While others have frowned and tried to angle their sword the correct way, my trainer is showing me footwork, the lethal places in which to hit, how to disarm an opponent. _I won't let you down, Jacob_. He's put in so much time helping me- often showing up at our house as soon as his shift on watch as a Peacekeeper was over. Even though it was apparent that he was only there to see my mother, he dedicated an hour or so to me, teaching me what he knew and patiently watching me, correcting my technique. He gave up an hour of time that he could have spent with the love of his life to teach _me_ things I might never use. _I can't let this go to waste. _

o0o

**Brandon Scorn (16) District 10 Tribute**

_Focus, Brandon. You only have the next four hours to get warmed up and do what you need to before the private sessions!_ The rope in my hands is visibly shaking, and I force air in and out of my lungs. _Breathe. You're of no use to yourself like this. Get yourself under control._ I exhale again, before turning back to the task at hand. A perfect noose forms under my fingers quickly and effortlessly, and a small smile crosses my face. _Good. Again. _The noose comes untied at a single twitch of my hand, and I tie it again. And again. Three more times, before I'm satisfied that I can remember it and keep my hands steady.

The station focussing on snares is next on my agenda, and I listen carefully as the instructor goes over how to make a tripwire, how to rig the trap, and what to listen for to know that it's been sprung. I thank her with a smile, and she looks delighted when I shake her hand. With a pang of sadness, I realize that there must not be very many people who visit her station, preferring to train with the weapons and other sharp things. _Slash, whack, poke, that's all handling a weapon is,_ Stephanie had said to be once, nose crinkled in horror and disgust as someone slaughters the girl from 1 onscreen. _There's not much to it, really._ It's an effort not to keep my lip from curling as I glance over to where the Careers are grouped, watching the green-eyed girl from 1 demolish seven dummies with a whirling storm of dark hair and flashing steel. _She moves like a cat,_ I reflect, watching her stalk back and shove the fighting knives back into their sheaths, smirking with a predator's arrogance. _A wild, deadly cat, with claws that could easily find themselves buried in your belly._

Tearing my eyes away from the Pack, I move on to the fire-starting station, keeping my hands low on the wood and quickly earning a spark for my efforts. Pride thrills through me as I continue, working with every material the station offers. Within moments of beginning, I'm rewarded with a flare of heat. _Knot tying, check. Snares, check. Fire starting, check. _The only thing left I have that I might show the Gamemakers is what I can do with a sword. Shoveling horse manure is hard work, sometimes, especially in the grueling heat of the barn. I know I'm strong enough to do such a thing, and _slash, wack, poke_. That's all it is. There doesn't necessarily have to be any finesse to my movements, I just have to show that I know how to wield a weapon and am not afraid to use it. _Let Scythe and Lancia and Sierra get their glory by making the run for the Cornucopia. Let Mic and Elwood and Santeena forage for food to keep us alive. _Let them, because it's going to be _me_ who protects our alliance. It's going to be _me_ who drives a sword through Athena Shier's heart, it's going to be _me_ who tires the noose around Asher Foster's neck. _Let them hunt and run and forage all they like. At the end of the day, it's going to be _me_ who keeps them safe. I will protect them, and then, when the time comes, I will protect myself._ My name is Brandon Scorn, and I will protect those who I have come to call friends. My name is Brandon Scorn, and I will be the Victor of the 26th Hunger Games.

o0o

**Ambrose Volta (14) District 5 Tribute**

Danielle's face is drawn as she slowly sits down on the bench next to me, her plate almost slipping from her twitching fingers. She's white as a sheet, and the only spots of color on her face are two rosy spots high on her cheekbones.

"Danielle?" I ask cautiously. "Are you alright?"

"What?" she glances over at me, eyes wide. "What, oh, I'm perfectly alright. Thank you."

Lauren shakes her head, brow furrowed as she runs an eye over our ally. "Danielle, you look like you've seen a ghost," she says gently. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing's wrong." Danielle lets out a shaky, high-pitched peal of laughter. Heads turn around the cafeteria for a moment, and the 7 girl cringes under all the attention. "I'm just nervous, that's all. Butterflies in my stomach and all that. I think."

"Can you eat?" Aveline asks softly. "If you're not feeling well-"

"No, I'm feeling fine," Danielle insists. "I'm just… really, really scared." Burying her head in her hands, she nudges her plate out of the way with her elbow and rests her forehead on the table. "I'm really, really scared," she repeats into her hands, muffled.

"Hey, it's okay," Lauren soothes, her voice instantly smoothing into the tone of a concerned mother, comforting a hurt child. "It's gonna be okay. We're all nervous, okay? Even the Careers are on edge." She points towards the large table in the center of the room, where Sash and Athena Shier are deep in conversation with Thames and Aegis, with Halliday nodding at varying intervals, her leg jiggling restlessly. Unlike the last two days, the lunchroom is unusually tense and quiet, the Tributes huddled together and talking in hushed voices. "You don't have to go first, you don't have to go lost. That's all that matters. You're going to impress Valkyrie and her team, and they'll give you a high score. I promise."

"How can you be so sure?" Danielle shudders, and Lauren laughs, no mirth in her voice. "I've seen you practicing with those hatchets, girl. You're something to watch out for. I wouldn't want to meet you in a dark alley, and in this situation, _that's a good thing._"

Danielle scrubs over her face with her hands. "Yeah," she says, slightly breathless. "Yeah. I'll be okay." She inhales, deeply. Once. Twice. "I'll be okay," she says again, this time with conviction. Lauren pats her on the back, and Danielle blinks gratefully at her, before pulling her plate back towards her and tucking in.

I survey the room as I eat, barely tasting the rich Capitol food as I take it all in. The doors separating the lunchroom from the main training room are shut tight, with four Peacekeepers standing guard beside them. One of them, dressed so heavily that I can't tell whether they're male or female, cocks his head to the side as if listening to something, before glancing around the room. "Thames Venturi!" he barks, at the Career rises fluidly from his seat beside Aegis Harlow, the latter's inky blue eyes tracking his every move as he swaggers towards the doors. Thames gives a mock salute to the Peacekeepers before slipping through. _They're already calling Tributes in? Has he even eaten? _Indeed, a glance towards his now-vacated spot showed no sign of a plate, the table still as shiny and spotless as it was when we walked in. _But the rest of the Careers have food in front of them… odd_. Fifteen minutes later, Halliday Frost gracefully stands and slinks past the Peacekeepers. Then Aegis. Athena is gone within the next 45 minutes. Beside me, Lauren is taking deep, quiet breaths, shifting every now and then.

"You'll do great," I whisper, and she gives me what should be a smile. It could also very well be a grimace, but that's not what matters. What matters is calming her down. _It's always so much easier to calm someone else down than myself. Deal with someone else's shit than my own._ _It's what I'm good at_. "You'll be _amazing_," I insist, reaching out and gripping her hand. "You can do this."

"They could call me in at any minute!" she hisses back. "I'm not ready for this…"

"Yes, you are," I insist. "You _are_ ready, Lauren."

"I don't even have a plan for what I'm going to _do_-"

"You're good with a knife, you know. I've watched what you can do with one of those things. Show them a bit of that. Maybe program something. You're from 3, you know more about tech than most of us."

Lauren swallows. "O-okay." Her gaze catches on Harold, who's visibly shaking as he makes his way past the Peacekeepers and into the room beyond.

Precisely 9 minutes and 30 seconds later, Lauren's name is called.

"Good luck," I tell her, just as Aveline says, "You'll do great, Lauren."

"Thank you, guys," she whispers as she gets up from the bench, giving Aveline's hand a squeeze. "I'll make it count."

o0o

**Lauren Silver (17) District 3 Tribute**

_Deep breaths, Lauren. You won't be of any use to yourself if you pass out because of hyperventilation before you even get into the room._ The walk from our small table to the doors leading into the main training area is simultaneously the longest and the shortest in my life. _This is it. This is the moment when it all comes together, the culmination of everything that you've been preparing for the last two days. _Some would argue that the Games are what I've been practicing for, that they're the most important stage of this atrocious act, but to me, this is where Tributes make or break themselves. The pre-Games stage is where you attract attention, and when the Capitol will see you without the stain of blood or the horror of death hovering over you. Help can come too late, and first impressions are everything. It's something I know better than anyone- I have two younger brothers who constantly need looking after, and when sickness struck the family two years ago… I was the only one who could take care of any of them. My mother was too weak to even get out of bed. It was me who had to prepare meals, me who had to look after everyone. I went to the apothecary at least once a day, hurrying through the slums of the District to get to the run-down building. I soon learned how to force a smile, fake a laugh, nod at all the right times and say all the right things. I learned how to be the perfect example, polite and kind, and understanding. That mask could never slip when I was anywhere but in the privacy of my own room. Not around other people. I had to become the star specimen. _It's all an act. It's all a ploy, and no one will know the real you when you step out of your shell_. It had cracked, there, a few moments ago. Just for a few minutes. But it had cracked, and it was _shameful_. The pity in Aveline's eyes, in Danielle's touch. _I am the one who will take care of them, and it cannot be the other way around._

I push the doors open. Step into the space beyond. _Now is not the time for wallowing and memories. Show them you are better, show them what you can do._

But what can I do?

_You're good with a knife, _Danielle had said. Right. Knives. I can do that. _Knives. _

"Whenever you're ready, Miss Silver," a voice says from above me, and I stare up at the Head Gamemaker. _Impress her, _a voice whispers. _She is the one who decides whether you live or die_. _She has the power to kill every single one of us in the Arena with a single twitch of her finger. _

_Knives._ The knife-throwing station- that's where I need to go. My hand lingers on the button that will start the exercise. _Deep breath in, deep breath out. _I press down, and the targets slide into place before me. The six knives in my hands are chill against my skin, and I'm holding on to them so tightly that I'm not sure I'm going to be able to pry my hand from the hilt to throw. _You must. _The first target lights up. _Now. Nownownownownow. _It's muscle memory that has my arm coming back, preparing the throw. Pure instinct that guides my hand, wrist snapping as I hurl the blade into the target.

It lands in the dummy's lower forearm. Nowhere near where I was aiming. _Shit._ Now what? No sound comes from where the Gamemakers are positioned to my right, and I will my muscles to relax, will a small smirk of triumph across my face. _Fake it 'till you make it, isn't that what everyone says?_ I've been wearing a mask my entire life. I've been faking my whole life away. What's one more thing? It's not like it's going to matter, not in the end.

Another knife. This time somewhere in the ribcage area. I was aiming for the shoulder, but I forced another grin, rolling my shoulders as if I'm just getting started.

My next dagger is slightly better, in the neck, and this time, the smile is genuine. And so my session continues. Knife after knife. Throw after throw. Smile after smile. _Keep going. Don't stop now. _Three more daggers hit three more dummies- thigh, calf, and… and my third and final weapon embeds itself exactly where the eye would be. _Luck,_ I think to myself, even as I step back from the throwing line and coerce my muscles into movement, a small, graceful bow.

"Dismissed," Valkyrie says flatly, and she's smiling as she gestures me towards the elevators.

I don't know if that smile is a good thing.

o0o

**Sash Radcliffe (16) District 8 Tribute**

I've been sitting in the lunchroom for the last few hours, and it's been doing nothing good for my nerves. _Keep your hands steady,_ I remind myself. _Shooting won't be any good if you shake._ After what had felt like an eternity, Danielle had been called in, and in a matter of minutes, it will be me who is in the room.

"Sash Radcliffe!" _Finally._

I pause beside the archery station, about halfway through the room, and tilt my chin up to look at the Gamemakers on the mezzanine.

"Hello, Tribute," one of them says. Her chestnut hair is pulled back into a vicious braid, and her green eyes hold nothing but cool assessment as she meets my stare. "What do you have in store for us today?"

Holding back the retort that hovers on the tip of my tongue, I force myself to run an eye along the room- the varying stations, the weapons sitting on the racks in plain sight, and begging to be used. "I'm assuming," I drawl, dragging my words out and pitching my voice low, "that you didn't do me the favor of bringing me my bass. So I'll have to settle for this." I reach out with a hand and snatch up the bow nearest to me. Thankfully, it's the longbow that I've practiced on for the last two days. A risk, but it damn well paid off.

The metal of the bow is heavy in my hand, so unlike the wood of my own weapon back home. _That_ bow had been a steady partner by my side when the bass wasn't over my shoulder, the callouses on my hands not only from plucking strings. Rollag had taught me so, so much over the years. He'd been trained for the first twelve years of his life before he dropped out of the Academy and took to singing. It was rough for him, at first, in the streets, but he managed, and, well… look where he is now. But he never seemed to forget what had been hammered into him at such a young age and after a month of persistent pestering, he'd agreed to show me how to shoot. It started out just as a hobby, but when that year's Reaping date grew closer and closer, he began showing me where to shoot an animal, the small arts of sighting, and how to use the wind to influence a shot. _Time to prove that I've actually been listening, all this time, Rollag,_ I think to myself, and stride over to the long tunnel at the edge of the room. The virtual shooting range that can also double as a combat simulator. Santeena and I have only been using it as a shooting range for the last few days, but now…

The glass door slides open and I step inside. _Nock, mark, draw, release._ As the door shuts automatically behind me, a panel appears in my path. Three flicks of my fingers have the level set, the program running, and clock ready to count down from where the numbers 1:00 have appeared on the tunnel wall. The lights of the room dim as I step onto the platform, an arrow to the string of my bow as I prepare myself. The warning lights, this time in the tunnel, flicker on, crisscrossing the walls. A low hum begins to fill the air and I only barely remember to keep my muscles loose, stance relaxed as they play over the floor. The noise begins to intensify before almost the beams suddenly coalesce into a human-like figure, charging towards me. I pull back on the string and fire my arrow into its chest before it can get within close enough to take a swipe at me. I find the next hologram, a bow made up of blue light in its hands, arrow nocked and ready to fire. My arrow whizzes through its temple before anything else can happen. Another beam of that hologram light swings past me, and I turn with it, in time to see a virtual spear flying straight for my face. I dodge it, barely, and send my next arrow into the attacker's throat. _Thank you, Rollag,_ I say silently, as the next assailant falls and shatters at my feet. They sound strangely reminiscent of the crackling noise of a dying firework as my next bolt fragments the next hologram into a thousand lines of code at my feet.

To my surprise, the lights die out after that- fade and recede, leaving me panting and sweaty. Wiping the sweat off my forehead and tossing my hair out of my face, I step out of the tunnel and place my bow back on the rack, unslinging the quiver I had picked up and set it down as well.

"Dismissed," the same woman who had greeted me announces, and I incline my head in a small gesture of thanks before striding into the elevator, the steel door closing behind me.

o0o

**Valkyrie Summers, Head Gamemaker**

The sheaf of papers makes a dull _thump_ as I drop the folder onto the table, kicking out a chair and slumping into it.

"Bad day?" Valentina asks quietly, twirling a single strand of chocolate brown hair around a finger.

"Just stressful. I only want people to stop _questioning_ me," I mutter, and gratefully accept the steaming mug of coffee she pushes towards me. "'Valkyrie, are you sure you want to give him a 10? Valkyrie doesn't a 6 seem a bit low?' Valkyrie, Valkyrie, Valkyrie…"

Valentina nods. "You're the Head Gamemaker though. You have the final say, you're the leader."

"It's just _hard_ sometimes," I grumble, and Valentina makes a humming noise of agreement. Valentina Sokolova has been an _excellent_ Second for me. She takes care of the things I can't, or forget too, or just don't want to do. She's ambitious, isn't afraid to take what she wants. And times like this, she'll back me up without fail. "What did I ever do to deserve you as my second-in-command?" I wonder aloud.

Something slips across Valentina's face, then. Something dark, and dangerous, with fire in its eyes and sharp, sharp fangs. I blink, and it's gone- Valentina's face is as smooth and perfect as ever, her green eyes glittering as she smiles. "It's nothing, Valkyrie. Don't worry about it." Her chair makes a rough _screech_ that makes me wince as she shoves it back, kicking her booted feet up onto the table and resting her head back against folded arms. "Anyway, what _are_ the Tribute's final scores?"

"We should wait for Tiberius to get here," I point out. Valentina frowns.

"He's always late though. There is no on time with him."

"Your definition of 'on-time' is 30 minutes early, Valentina. For you, _late_ is _on-time_ for the rest of us. I'm sure he'll be here soon."

As if he had been waiting for me to say just that, the Master of Ceremonies opens the door to the conference room. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Head Gamemaker," he says. Nods to Valentina, who levels a flat look at him. "Miss Sokolova."

"Call me Valkyrie," I say, at the same time Valentina says, "Valentina will work just fine, Miss Sokolova makes me sound old."

A small smile quirks at the edge of Tiberius's mouth. "Valkyrie and Valentina, then. Which one of you can I call Val…?"

"I'm Valentina," Valentina says harshly. "Call my superior what she likes, but my name is Valentina."

"Valentina, then." Tiberius nods and sits down on my left. "I hear some of the others didn't… agree with you, on your scoring choices."

"No," I smile thinly. "They didn't. But it's my call, isn't it? I make the final decisions."

"As you say, Valkyrie."

I roll my eyes. "Stop that, Ty. Can we just get on with this, I know you're _dying_ to get your hands on the scores and start practicing your monologue."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Valentina drawls, lengthening her vowels and rolling her r's in an exaggerated imitation of our dialect. From District 8, Valentina has never picked up our way of speaking, her thick, foreign accent as prominent as ever.

"Yes, yes," Tiberius sighs good-naturedly. "Let's get on with the scores, shall we?"

Smirking, I open the folder, sliding the first sheet onto the table. "Halliday Frost, with a score of 10."

"10?"

"Yes, Ty, please do keep up." I tap her picture. "She's incredibly facile with the knife. Strong enough to do some serious damage at close-range- she demolished a punching bag in no time and had three of our trainers down for the count. It was obvious that she could have killed them if she were armed."

Ty nods and makes a note on his tablet. "Her District partner?"

I jerk my head at Valentina. "She's the one who judged the boys, ask her." If Tiberius is surprised by our method of producing scores, he doesn't show it and turns to my Second.

"Thames came in with a 9," Valentina smiles. "While he has incredible accuracy with that spear of his, something in him makes me wonder if he can bring himself to actually kill anyone. I'm not sure if Halliday can either," she adds, a small frown momentarily crossing her beautiful face. "I personally would have given her an 11 if she'd shown more brutality. As for Thames, he's much too pretty for his own good, and even though he's strong, he's smaller than most of the others, other than the boy from District 3, Harold. And having the first five scores come in as extremely high isn't necessarily what we want."

"Having said that," I interrupt and valiantly ignore the stink-eye Valentina sends my way, "Athena Shier scores a 9 as well. She's an impeccable shot with the bow, and unlike Thames, she showed no hesitation. She can shoot a dagger out of the air without batting an eyelash, and she's strong enough to hold her own in close combat."

"Aegis Harlow scores a 10." Valentina continues. "He's good with a sword- more than good, actually. A very precise demonstration of exactly what he can do and how he can kill. Unlike the other half of the Pack, District 2 seems very, very promising. Neither Tribute seems to be afraid of spilling blood."

"District 3 didn't impress me all that much." I reflect, rubbing at my temples. "Honestly, there's not much else to say on anyone else, with a few glaring exceptions, but I was dead tired by the time Asher Foster came in."

Tiberius stops for a moment, brows creased. "Foster is from 5, though, isn't he?"

"Yes," Valentina laughs ruefully. "But there were… complications." She fixes the Master of Ceremonies with a look that would send other men running for the ruins of 13. "If you dare ask him anything about what he did, I will personally see to it that you are doused in honey and sugar, chained into a boat, and sent down the river for the flies to eat you."

He swallows. "That was… very specific, Lady Sokolova."

Valentina's lip curls. "I'll do worse if you call me that again."

Tiberius's throat bobs and a wolf's grin finds itself on Valentina's face as she leans back in her chair.

"_Lauren Silver_," I say, a bit forcefully, "I gave a 5. She has a healthy knowledge of what's edible and what's not, and although she didn't ace the edible plants test, she proved more than adept at starting a fire and setting snares."

Valentina smiles through gritted teeth but dutifully says, "Harold Lachin, was, if you excuse my wordplay, was _lacking_ in quite a few areas. He's smart, I suppose and got himself a respectable score on our memory test, but other than that, there's nothing special about him."

"Nor is there about Marina Bloyster." Tiberius purses his lips in a worried frown. "Don't worry," I snort. " She got herself a 5, so she's not hopeless. She's fast and agile- incredibly so, but halfway through her session she started lagging, and then just stopped and stood in the middle of the room, talking to herself."

"She's been diagnosed with schizophrenia," Valentina says. "Be kind to her. It's a hard thing to live with. Given her condition, I'm impressed that she kept it together as long as she did. I say we give her a 6- as Valkyrie said, she's quick and light on her feet. Don't let something she was born with drag her score down just because she's still learning how to cope."

"She's eighteen," I snap. "She should already know how to cope."

"_Valkyrie_."

"_Valentina_."

My Second tilts her chin up defiantly. "Her score is 6, and that's final. You told me yesterday that I have the privilege of vetoing a single score. It is hers that I want to change. Like it or not, you're a woman of your word, Valkyrie Summers, and you've not broken a promise yet."

_Oh, but I have, Valentina, can't you see? _"Fine," I snap. "Marina's score will be raised to a 6. Happy?"

"Immensely," Valentina smiles. Sorting through a few more papers, she says, "I gave Mikail Drakil from District 4 a score of 2."

Tiberius is visibly taken aback. "A tribute from a Career District… with a _2?_"

"That may have been the one that all of us were in agreement on," I say dryly. Valentina shoots me a warning look from across the table. I shift slightly, hating the rebuke and crossing one leg over the other, nostrils flaring but make no further comment.

"He's too smart for his own good," she explains. "He demonstrated that he knows things about all of us that no one else would know. That no one else _should_ know. _And _he was far too smug and arrogant about it. None of us were keen about having our secrets revealed to the others, even our own colleagues. There are some things that should remain private."

"So you probably don't want me to bring anything up in the interviews," Tiberius concludes.

"It would be much appreciated."

"I can do that. And… Asher?"

I sigh through my nose. "A 9. Despite the trouble he's caused and everything he's done in the last few days, he's damn good with a dagger and pretty flexible too. Lots of knife tricks, front and backflips, and then a combination of those two together. The only reason why he doesn't have a 10 is his behavior for the last few days. He's far too wild for this world."

"His District partner is the same way," Valentina scowls. "Ambrose earned herself a 6. I think she might be faster than Marina, watching her go through the obstacle course, and much stronger. Unfortunately, she lowered her score by absolutely failing at archery. But she and Asher are cut from the same cloth- we need to watch out for them. Keep an eye on them in the Arena."

"Speaking of keeping an eye on people…" I push Phoenix Doppelmen's papers forward. "Read this."

Tiberius leans forward. " Diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder?"

I nod. "And it was very clear that one of his alters was present for that session. He _demolished_ one of the punching bags and went positively _feral._ It… wasn't pretty."

"What did you give him?"

Valentina smirks. "An 8."

_"What?"_

"He showed promise," Valentina argues. "He'll give the rest of the Capitol a show before we cross him off. Don't deny the viewers a chance for a good spectacle, Valkyrie."

"You're giving a potentially unstable Tribute who we don't know shit about an _8_."

A nod.

"And I assume you're going to fight me if I try to change it."

Another nod.

_Shit._ Despite everything Valentina's done for me the last few years, it's a real effort not to punch her teeth in. "Fine," I find myself growling again. "But you're pushing your luck, Sokolova."

"Wouldn't get anywhere if I didn't," Valentina points out. "What do you have for Danielle?"

"A 6. Respectable, and she did enough to impress me to that standard, but she's not ready for the Games. She's another soft-hearted one."

"She's from 7, Valkyrie," Tiberius says. "Not all of them are as cold-blooded or as indifferent as you'd like them to be."

"I don't _like_ them to be anything," I snap back, my temper tugging at its leash. "I _expect_ them to be."

Valentina frowns. "Valkyrie-"

I'm about to snap back at her, to admonish her and warn her to _remember her place,_ but Tiberius, the foolish, foolish man, beats me to it.

"Oh, _please,_" he scoffs. "Don't tell me that _Valentina Sokolova _is going _soft_."

Valentina's out of her chair before I can stop her, vaulting across the table. Her eyes are _wild_ as she lands with a predator's grace on Tiberius' lap, her knee driving _up_. The breath leaves his lungs in a _whoosh_, and her hand is around his throat, lips peeled back in a near-feral snarl.

"What do _you_ think?" Valentina growls. Her fingers tighten around his neck, and I reach them, wrapping my arms around my Second's waist and _yanking_.

"Valentina, _stop_," I say into her ear. I reach blindly behind me, fingers catching on the folders containing the scores and dragging them into my hand. "Get off him, Valentina, calm _down_."

"I am not going _soft_," Valentina snarls, fury and insults raging in her eyes, but climbs off the Master of Ceremonies.

"You should go," I mutter to Tiberius, who's still rubbing his neck and wheezing for air. Pressing the folders into his arms, I help him up and nudge him towards the door. "_Go._"

"But," he protests breathlessly, "the scores-"

"You're going live in 30 minutes," Valentina says, in a tone that promises violence, smiling like a shark. "I suggest you don't dawdle any longer than _absolutely_ necessary, Tiberius Hearthstone."

The Master of Ceremonies turns and scurries out the door.

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District 1 Tribute**

"Scoring time!" Sash sings, turning on the TV with a flourish of the remote.

"Oh, _goodie_," Halliday snorts.

"Don't _be_ that way," Sash scolds. Whisking over to the liquor cabinet, he comes back with a bottle of… something, shot glasses gripped tightly in his other hand. Distributing them on the granite countertop of the island. He pours the shots with no small amount of skill, xxx. "Might as well have some fun while we're all here," he grins, and Aegis saunters over, takes one look at the line of shots and knocks one back with ease.

"What's the game?" he asks, making his way over to one of the couches, putting some space between himself and the rest of the group.

Sash spreads his arms wide. "Whatever we want it to be."

"Halliday gets a 10, anyone who disagrees takes a shot when I'm right," I declare, and Athena is off the couch in a heartbeat.

"You're on."

"Great," I smirk back. "You and I both get 9s, Sash with a 7, and Aegis ties up with Princess."

Halliday glares at me before she drains her glass without batting an eyelash. "Don't you ever call me that."

"Yeah, yeah, or you'll disembowel me once we reach the Arena, I know," I snark back, and Athena whips around from where she's watching the screen intently.

"_Shh_," she hisses.

"From District 1," Tiberius is saying, and the rest of our alliance perks up. "Thames Venturi, with a score of 9."

"_Ha,_" I point at Athena, and she glowers only for a moment before drinking.

The presentation continues, and, as I predicted, Halliday and Aegis both draw 10s, while Athena and I come in with 9s and Sash with a respectable 7.

"You cheated," Sash mutters to me. Athena had refused to keep drinking after Aegis' score had come in, and it was a good choice on her part- she'd probably be flat out incoherent by now, depending on how much tolerance she's built up. And I doubt that it's much, given what Aegis has told me the last two nights… that is when we'd actually been talking.

The seal flashes across the screen and the anthem plays in no time, and Sash switches the TV off midway through.

"No respect," Athena chides. Sash just flips her off, and she lets out an indignant noise.

"I need alcohol." He's back at the cabinet in no time, rummaging around. "My head's all scrambled and I need to stop thinking for a while."

"Thinking about home?"

Sash makes a humming noise of assent in the back of his throat at Halliday's question. "Just hoping that Rollag'll be okay when I'm gone." He remerges with at least half the cabinet's contents in his arms, placing each bottle on the counter with care.

"Glasses are in the third cupboard to your left," Athena directs, and Sash whisks over.

"It concerns me that you know more about my own floor than I do," I remark, and Athena smiles.

"I just assumed." She directs her attention to Sash, arching an eyebrow at him as he turns back, elbowing the cupboard shut behind him. "Why so meditative all of a sudden?"

"Not meditative," Sash corrects. "Concerned. And that's exactly what I'm trying to avoid being, hence the copious amounts of alcohol on the table. He starts rooting through the small fridge on his end of the island. "What about you, Athena? Anyone special back home?"

Athena's hazel eyes glint and she plucks a shot glass off the table and gulps it down. "I'm not nearly drunk enough for this," she mutters.

"Come on, Athena," Aegis whines, his head lolling back over the arm of the couch to look at his District partner. "Tell us! I've seen you around the District with… Alec, was it?"

Sash perks up at this. "Yes, Alec!" he exclaims. "Tell us more about Alec!"

"We're just friends," Athena protests.

"Nooooooo," Aegis protests, sliding off the couch and coming over to where the rest of us are gathered around the island. "You're like, friends plus." He waves a hand around, clearly looking for words. "Like, a bottle of vodka with an extra shot glass. Unlike you and me. We're just a bottle."

"I like the way you think," I declare, and Aegis gives another one of those low, low laughs that never fails to send a shiver down my spine.

"But that would imply that you and I are less," Athena says suddenly. "And that's not true. Like, we're not," she wiggles her fingers together, and Sash dissolves into hysterical giggles. "Like that, but, like, we're still a good combination. Like, in the Arena."

"You say 'like' a lot, when you're drunk," Aegis observes with a smirk.

"I'm not _drunk_," Athena objects. "I'm… tipsy. Like, not drunk. Slightly drunk. But not, like, totally smashed."

"You just said 'like' again." Sash points out. "Twice."

Athena frowns. "I-" she shakes her head. "I do _not_."

"That made no sense."

"What_ever_, Aegis. What were we talking about, anyway?"

"You and Aegis being a bottle of vodka," I supply.

Athena snaps her fingers. "Oh, yeah. But, we're like, more than a bottle of vodka. With an extra shot glass. We're a bottle equal to the other bottle with a shot glass."

"That was smooth," Sash compliments, and Athena glares at him.

"Shut up. We're talking about _vodka_."

"And shot glasses."

"Wait," Aegis says, bolts upright from his previous slumped position. "But if we're a bottle of vodka, and Thames and Halliday are a bottle of vodka, what does that make Sash?"

"Vodka is disgusting," Halliday sulks, rejoining us at the island. "I'd rather be, like, a chocolate liqueur. Or vanilla ice cream."

"Vanilla or chocolate, Princess, you can't choose both," I tease, wiggling my eyebrows.

"Chocolate for me, thanks," Aegis smirks. "Vanilla is a bit… bland, if you're asking me."

"_Aegis_," Halliday squawks, immediately picking up on his innuendo, waving her hands in front of her. "_Too much information._ Can we go back to what kind of _drinks_ we are?"

"You brought it up," I point out.

"_Vodka,_" she insists. "What were you saying, Sash?"

"Fuck vodka," Sash declares. "I'm a full-blown martini."

Halliday snorts into her drink. Which is a concerning shade of pink, but I'm not about to comment on that. I've had more than a few questionably colored alcoholic beverages in my lifetime, and a Pink Squirrel is the least of them.

"Wait," Athena says. "Wait, wait, wait. No shot glass for you and Thames?"

Halliday arches an eyebrow. "Thames is fine-"

"_Thank you,_"

She glares at me. "Thames is _fine_," she repeats. "But I'm pretty happy to drink from the bottle. No shot glasses for us."

"_Personally_," I smirk, wiggling my fingers. "I believe that shot glasses are overrated."

"_Overrated?_" Aegis demands, voice dropping to a deep, rumbling baritone and fixing me with a smoldering look that makes me shift my weight and reposition.

"Not possible," Sash dismisses.

The glint in Aegis' dark, dark eyes makes heat twist low in my gut. Sash must notice the look as well, because he grabs Athena, towing her towards the elevator. "Well, we'd best be off now," he says hurriedly, pressing a hand to the call button. "Athena's drunk off her ass, we should get her back to her room."

"Heyyy," Athena mumbles, hanging loose in Sash's grip. "'M not as think 's you drunk I am!"

Halliday grimaces at that, setting her glass down. "I'll go with you guys," she says, giving Aegis and I a significant look as she joins the other two Careers in the elevator. The door _dings_ closed behind them.

Slowly, ever so slowly, my lover steps forward. Prowls closer. Closer, and my back hits the wall as he steps up, right into my personal space. A smirk crosses his face, and then Aegis is kissing me. Kissing me, long and deep, spinning me back through thought and memory to last night. Last night, when he'd taken me, hard and fast enough to make me forget my worries about what was to come. Make me lose all sense of space and time and abandon myself to the rhythm and heat and _pleasure_ that was us.

He shifts against me, smiling against my skin as I groan. "Thames Venturi," he purrs into my ear, and I arch under the caress of his breath. "You are nothing like anyone could have ever expected."

o0o

**A/N: Hello, everyone! I hope you're all doing well, considering the circumstances. The title is from Panic at the Disco's song **_**Emporer's New Clothes**_**, and Sash's private session is heavily based on the movie version of Katniss's training scene in **_**Catching Fire**_**. The Bloodbath isn't too far off, guys! The next chapter will depict training day 4, or preparation for interviews! Then, the interviews themselves will be divided into two chapters, and then I'll have a launch chapter before things get **_**bloody**_**. I've posted a list of everyone's training scores down below, I hope that everyone is satisfied. If not… I'm sorry. **

**Thames Venturi: 9**

**Halliday Frost: 10**

**Aegis Harlow: 10**

**Athena Shier: 9**

**Herold Lachin: 2**

**Lauren Silver: 5**

**Mikail Drakil: 2**

**Marina Bloyster: 6**

**Asher Foster: 9**

**Ambrose Volta: 6**

**Phoenix Doppelman: 8**

**Lancia Carerra: 3**

**Elwood Liang: 3**

**Danielle Oakwood: 6**

**Sash Radcliffe: 7**

**Santeena Paige: 3**

**Jordan Wheaton: 9**

**Scythe Tonium: 5**

**Brandon Scorn: 5**

**Sierra Encantada: 6**

**Mic Klaus: 7**

**Natalia Oakly: 6**

**Thorne Raven: 6**

**Aveline Wren: 5**

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever**_** in your favor,**

**-SetFires (Vix)**


	21. An Untold Story pt 1

_"I'll give you one night only_

_For your eyes only_

_If entertainment's what's you want_

_Then, honey, I'm the best..."_

_~One Night Only (The Struts)_

o0o

**Halliday Frost (District 1 Tribute) 18**

"Thank you! Thank you, thank you!" Tiberius Hearthstone takes the stage with ease, strutting out and into the spotlight. The applause slowly quiets, and Tiberius does a little bow, a huge grin on his face. "Thank you for being here tonight on the eve of the 26th annual Hunger Games!" The crowd erupts into screams and shouts, clapping wildly. _Disgusting._ "26 years," Tiberius continues. "Can you _believe _it's been _over _a _quarter_ of a century?" _A quarter of a century. 26 years. 26 years of people just like me being shipped off to their deaths for sport. _He rambles on about how much of an 'honor it is to be here' and how 'grateful he is to still have this job' blah blah blah. _Bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit._ This is a place where people live stream teenagers murdering each other for sport. _If he's grateful, then I'm a giraffe. _

I shift from foot to foot, struggling to breathe. _This dress is so _tight_, who even had this idiotic idea was this anyway? _

"In less than 18 hours, the 26th Hunger Games will be underway!" Tiberius declares, spreading his arms wide. "Isn't that exciting?!"

"Exciting as mud," Thames mutters from behind me, and I can't help but smile. Just a tiny bit. Dressed in black combat boots, which seem to have quickly become his signature wear in the Capitol, he's also wearing black greaves inlaid with golden vines with spiraling leaves are wrapped around his forearms. A crisp black shirt, decorated with some sort of strange, runic design is nearly obscured by the heavy cloak made of a dark red cloak draped around his shoulders that's lined with what appears to be snow leopard fur. He looks like a king.

"Tonight, we have the opportunity to meet each of our Tributes _face-to-face_, ladies and gentlemen, isn't that _fabulous?_"

"Dear God," Aegis grumbles, two people back. "These people are bizarre. Who even _says_ that?"

"Here here," Athena agrees.

Tiberius says something that has the hundreds of Capitol people in the audience on their feet and cheering madly once again. There are hundreds of people here, judging me, analyzing me, but there are so many people who will be watching him. This is a mandatory live broadcast- every eye in Panem will be watching me tonight. _Maximus will be watching. _

Something curls low in my gut, heavy, and making me bite my lip. My heart races, threatening to jack-knife its way out of my chest. _No, calm down, get yourself under control. _

"Starting off this _lovely _evening is a beautiful young woman from District 1!" _Me. That's me they're talking about. _"And her name is Halliday. With a remarkable _10_ in training, please join me in welcoming Halliday Frost!"

_Now. Now is my time to shine. _I take a deep breath, steeling my nerves, and walk out onto the stage.

The lights are blinding, and it's a herculean effort to keep my eyes open as I smile for the cameras, for the Capitol, and shake Tiberius's hand.

"Welcome to the Capitol, Halliday Frost! How are you liking it so far?"

_It's terrible, I hate it, and if you don't stop looking at me like that in the next three seconds, I will put this stiletto through your eye. _"It's absolutely gorgeous," is what I say instead. "I've never seen anything quite like this place!"

Tiberius lets out another one of those fake, fake laughs, and gestures for us to have a seat. Folding myself into the chair, I arrange the skirts of the dress to pool around my feet, the fabric settling easily. The bodice is a beautiful, solid white, almost like the dress I had worn on my Reaping day. This is much, much nicer though, and even though District 1 is about luxury, this is by far the nicest thing I've worn in what is probably my entire life. _It might be the nicest thing I wear in my entire life. _No. I cannot think about that. Not now. _I am light, I am beauty, I am grace._ The dress I'm wearing is playing on my last name- Frost. Crafted of tiny blue gems so pale they're almost white, clinging to every curve and hollow before draping to the floor. Sheer silk panels flow from my back shoulders, in lieu of a veil or a cape. The long sleeves are tight, the neckline grazing the collarbone, the modesty of it undone by how it fits me like a glove. My hair is swept up off my face with two combs of silver and diamond but left to drape down my back. I'm honestly surprised my prep team managed to straighten that mess and get it to lie flat.

"I hear you are unrivaled in your skill with a knife…" Tiberius begins. _Oh, wonderful. Straight to the point, isn't it. Yes, let's talk about how I'm going to murder everyone else in line backstage, shall we? _

I keep the smile on my face, but let the edges sharpen just a little bit. A little more predator to show through. "I wouldn't call myself unrivaled, Tiberius, but they _are_ my weapon of choice."

He laughs again, and I fight down the bile rising in the back of my throat. The lights are hot, and despite the sheerness and light material of the dress, I'm still burning up. _Only three minutes, Three minutes. _"Such depreciation, Miss Frost, stop that! You earned a _10_ in training, and that speaks for itself!"

I force a laugh, wave a hand through the air. "You're too kind, Tiberius. And please, call me Halliday."

"Halliday, then," he agrees. Leaning forward, like he's about to tell me some huge secret, he asks, "So, Halliday. Do you feel like you are well-prepared for these Games?"

_Of course, I don't. You're asking me if I'm ready to drive one of my knives into the heart of a 12-year-old, what do you take me for? _"I do, Tiberius. I feel very, very prepared." _Lie. _Azer had told me to lie. _Think of the most interesting lies you can imagine… and then make them plausible. _"I'm afraid I can't say the same about some of the others…" I slide my gaze towards the side of the stage where the rest of the Tributes are waiting, "But my allies and I are ready for anything you can throw at us. Although I have no qualms about leaving them to the mutts the stakes get too high." "I plan to win these Games, and I'm not going to let anything get in my way."

"I have no doubt that you will," Tiberius confides. "And how do you plan to win these Games, exactly?" If it were anyone else, the question might have sounded passive-aggressive, but Tiberius just makes it a genuine statement, from one friend to another. _He's good. I'll give him that much._

"Well," I start. "You hear it all the time- that you can't hurt the ones that you love. If everyone loves me, then they can't hurt me. And if they can't hurt me…" I shrug, raising my eyebrows in a _what can you do? _look. "Then I win."

o0o

**Aegis Harlow (18) District 2 Tribute**

Halliday's interview goes _swimmingly_. _Well, there goes any hope of impressing the Capitol._ She played everyone- the audience, Tiberius, maybe even the Gamemakers. She's off the stage in a heartbeat, almost running once she passes the screens that will shield her from the public view. She blows past us in a gale of dark hair and white fabric and is gone before any of us have a chance to say anything. Athena raises an eyebrow, but Thames shakes his head.

"Leave her be," he murmurs. "She was a mess before we came down here, but she pulled herself together for the most part. Let her go."

"Are you sure?" Athena hesitantly asks, making to step out of line.

"Don't," Thames starts, but he's interrupted by Tiberius announcing his name from the stage. Thames winces, tugging his fur-lined cloak tighter around himself before giving us a mocking two-finger salute and heading onstage.

I want to pay attention to him- he's earned it, all innuendos intended- but I'm distracted by Athena. She's ducking out of line, presumably to go find Halliday. "_Athena,_" I hiss. My District partner glances back, brow creased.

"Aegis, I've gotta make sure she's okay."

"You have three minutes until you're wanted on that stage," I argue. "You're not going to make it either way. Like Thames said, she'll be fine. Give her some credit. She's stronger than you think she is."

"And how would you know?" Athena's left leg is twitching, bouncing restlessly against the floor. "I've been around her more than you have been."

"Just… let it go, Athena. She wouldn't appreciate you barging in on her and possibly seeing her like that."

Athena opens her mouth, incredulity spreading across her features. "Says the one who threw a massive temper tantrum a few days ago and-"

I force the wince down and strain to keep my voice even. "And I didn't want anyone to see me like that, Athena, don't you understand? It's _humiliating _to let someone else in when you're at your lowest points. You may be able to _talk _about your struggles and problems with someone you trust, but actually letting them _in_ like that… it's hard, Athena. Come on."

Her nostrils flare. "Aegis-"

"Good girl," I say over her. It's a dick move, I know. But if she runs off and doesn't show up right on cue… it could cause all sorts of problems.

Resolutely ignoring the ferocious glare that I'm sure is aimed at me, I turn back to the screens. Just in time to catch the tail end of Thames' interview.

"-and how do you plan to do that?" Unless I'm simply imagining, it's a genuine note of intrigue in his voice as he asks, "I don't think I've ever met a Career who wasn't chewing at the bit to spill some blood."

This elicits a low laugh from the golden-eyed boy. "None of us were bred for bloodshed, Tiberius. We simply find ways to condone or forget. We do not get to play god and decide who lives and who dies." The Master of Ceremonies blinks. All the surprise he will allow himself to show. "Death is like the wind," Thames muses as he stands, glancing over his shoulder as he walks off the stage, ignoring Tiberius's extended hand. "It blows where it wants to blow." As he goes, I wonder if anyone else noticed the tremor in his hands, the way his voice almost cracked on the last two words. If anyone noticed the way his eyes were darting around the room, looking, searching for a way out.

Once he's beyond the screens, Thames jogs over to us. I hold an arm open and he wraps himself around me, burying his face in my shoulder. "They were all _staring_ at me," he whispers. "They were all staring at _me_, Age, and-"

The Gorgon doesn't know what to do with feelings. The monster I've kept caged for 18 years doesn't know how to comfort. But now, with that dark, blood-soaked _creature_ locked in its cage, maybe I can help him.

Words. Words, I need to talk to him, to offer reassurance. _Come on, Aegis. Think! _But nothing comes. I'm lost, almost as helpless as the boy quivering in my arms, and all I can do is stroke my fingers through his hair. Run a soothing hand along his back, and offer him the only solace I can. The only consolation I know how to give.

I hold him close, resolutely ignoring the snickers of the other Tributes behind us. Angle my body like a shield, protecting him as best I can from the rest of the world. My father once read me the story of gods and goddesses, mythology older than anyone can remember. He told me that I was named after an ancient shield, carried by the king of the gods, whose name was Zeus. If I am the shield, then Thames is the king, and I will protect him at all costs.

Athena's interview passes in a blur, the crowd giving up a massive round of applause as she comes off the stage, head still high and a huge grin on her face. Then it's my turn, and I can hear Tiberius getting the crowd riled up for me. _I doubt I'd have any skin left on my hands for how hard they're clapping tonight. And I'm only the fourth one out._ Untangling myself from where Thames has wrapped himself around me like an octopus is a feat of agility in and of itself. "I need to go now," I say gently. "I'll see you in a few minutes, okay? Go find somewhere quiet. I'll find you there."

He blinks up at me, slowly, before nodding. "Okay, Aegis." A small, familiar spark of mischief glints in his eyes as he steps away. "Give them hell," he adds, a small quirk to his lips, before slipping away down the hall.

"Ladies and gentlemen, from District 2, Aegis Harlow!" Tiberius proclaims, and I close my eyes for a moment, steady my breathing. _Give them hell._ With that thought firmly in mind, I straighten my back, take a deep breath, and walk out to face the Capitol.

o0o

**Lauren Silver (18) District 3 Tribute**

The boy onstage is quickly winning over the audience, snarky remarks and dark humor never failing to elicit a laugh from both interviewer and crowd. _I've gotta do better. _The better part of today had been spent in either my room or the bathroom, where my prep team had been a flurry of movement around me. Tamlin had taken charge easily and had honestly done most of the work, applying silver eyeshadow, a sweep of coal beside each eye, a clear, shimmering lip gloss. Slipping pieces of jewelry onto my neck, my fingers, even sliding a band of braided silver onto my ankle. Oh, yes. _Everything _I'm wearing is silver. The rings, the necklace, the slinky metallic dress… everything is some shade of the lustrous grey color. A play on my last name, perhaps, like what they did with the Career girl of 1, who stunned _everyone_ with her gorgeous ensemble.

On-screen, Aegis ducks his head, successfully hiding the smug smile that flits across his face. "A gentleman never tells," he says coyly, and Tiberius erupts into over-exaggerated laughter. _Fake. This is so horribly fake. How can no one realize what's going on? _Everything here is so unbearably expensive as if they're trying to prove that they're better than us, that they have more money, more power, more influence, more _everything_. It's just one big flex party, and it's _revolting._

Still grinning, the Master of Ceremonies stands, offering Aegis a hand. He accepts it, rising to his feet in an easy, graceful motion. "I wish you all the best, Aegis Harlow," Tiberius says, shaking the boy's hand vigorously.

"And I, you," Aegis answers smoothly. He gives the Capitol a roughish wink as he lets go of Tiberius's hand, dipping into a small bow before saying, "I hope you all like the show I'm about to give you."

A show. He couldn't have been more accurate. A rigged show, more like, because the Gamemakers are all in control. Ultimately, we are at their mercy. They judge us and decide who they will allow to gain Sponsors, and therefore help from the outside world. They sit in a room and have the ability to kill any of us with the press of a button. Thames had said that we do not get to play god and decide who dies and who doesn't. And he's right. _We _don't. The Gamemakers do. And all I find myself wanting is for them to be brought to justice, to be cast down from their high and mighty throne. _This isn't right. It's gruesome, really. _Valkyrie has been Head Gamemaker for how many years now? Longer than I can remember. All I know that she is the third Head Gamemaker, and that neither of her predecessors lasted long in the position. That means she must have been here for the last six years at least… and that means she's indirectly responsible for at _least _138 deaths. _138\. _

"Our next young lady, first out of the gate for District 3, it's Lauren Silver!" Tiberius announces from the stage. _Crap. I gotta go. _I'd been so engrossed in the horror of my most recent realization that I hadn't even noticed Aegis return to the group.

The walk out onstage is possibly the hardest thing I've done in the past few years. The knowledge that I'm about to put myself on display for the Capitol, sit still, smile, act like the good little lapdog they want me to be, is almost enough to make my steps falter. _Almost. _But not quite. It will take a lot more than a kill count and a performance to break me. _It's time to move._

"Miss Silver!" Tiberius exclaims as I stride out onto the stage. "You certainly do live up to your name!"

"Thank you, Mr. Hearthstone!" I chirp back. _Be yourself,_ Tamlin had told me, as he gently nudged me towards the elevators. _You're kind, smart, beautiful- you'll have no problem garnering Sponsors._ But now that I'm up here, standing in front of said Sponsors, I don't know if I can do it. Can I really be myself, a young girl from District 3, not yet 20, and about to go to her death? The Capitol loves confidence, loves bloodthirsty Tributes and loves romance. I have none of that. What I do have is a family, a rebel's heart, which is sure to get me killed even faster if I demonstrate even the tiniest bit of resistance, and four-inch stiletto heels that I can barely stand in. Indeed, I wobble as I step over to the waiting chair. Just a little bit.

"So tell me, Lauren. You earned yourself a 6 in training, a rather uncommon score among the other Tributes from 3 I've seen in the past. How did you do it?"

Well, yes. A 6 _was_ on the high side for most Tributes of 3, but… "It wasn't what I was hoping for," I answer honestly.

Tiberius's eyebrows flick up. "No?"

"I was hoping for a 7," I admit. "But I suppose that beggers can't be choosers."

This close to the Master of Ceremonies, I can see his face fall. Barely noticeable, and you would have to be very observant to catch it. Luckily for me, I've been tangled up in people for a very, _very_ long time.

"What makes you say that?" He asks, and yes, his tone _has_ sobered.

"We didn't have much to live off of, back in 3," I say matter-of-factly. Not looking for pity. Not fishing for sympathizers. Just the bare, honest truth. "We were better off than some, but most of the people who make up that _some_ are currently sitting dead against a building from starvation." This draws distressed, mournful cries from the audience, and I resist the urge to frown out at the lot of them. _If this news makes you so sad, why don't you go do something about it? _"I'll take what I can get, and I'm not about to complain if Miss Summers was gracious enough to give me that high of a score. But no matter what happens, or what more score is, I'm going to give my all into the Arena." _Butter them up. Make them like you. It's not like they'll see a lot of me before it's too late. _

"That's very stoic of you, Lauren," Tiberius says at last. I shrug. _Not like it matters._ "Now, back at 3, do you have anyone special waiting back home for you? Anyone you'd like to give a shout-out to before our time is up?"

_Ha. I wish. As if I would have had time for a romance, when I was running myself ragged trying to take care of my family._ "Only my family," I say, and search out the closet camera, looking directly at it. "I just want to tell them that I love them. Also, Wyre, don't put gravel in your brother's next meal. It's not very nice." A soft, almost sad chuckle goes around the room at that. Willing a smile onto my face, I give a little wave. "Treat each other nicely and be nice to our parents until I get back." I finish with blowing a small kiss towards the camera, and stand, the buzzer going off. _I didn't make any promises, _I reflect, taking Tiberius's hand and letting him raise my own in a mock victory celebration. _I don't make promises that I know I can't keep_.

o0o

**Marina Bloyster (17) District 4 Tribute**

If I'd had any hope of the voices vanishing and leaving me be after the episode on the rooftop, I'm sorely let down.

'_Hello, Liar,' _one purrs. This one wasn't one of the ones who had been on the rooftop with me- this one was different, with a flair for the dramatic. Distinctly male, he doesn't do any harm- he just annoys me so much that it's often hard to think straight. I tend to call him Thomas, although he says his name is Draco. Granted, Draco does seem to fit him better, but until he'd named himself, I'd referred to him as Thomas. I guess old habits are hard to break.

'_Let her be,' _another chides. Female, this time. She's one of the ones who was on the rooftop- the only one of my voices whoever says anything even remotely positive. _'She's trying to concentrate.'_

'_Concentrate, shmoncentrate,' _Thomas/Draco grumbles back. _'This isn't going to go well at all. I can't see any way where I make it worse.'_

_'There are _plenty _of ways you can make it worse,' _the female voice snaps. _'And you're doing one right now!'_

"I honestly don't mind," I mutter into the empty air in front of me. The boy from 3, who had replaced the living piece of silver who was his District partner, is stuttering his way through the interview Shifting around on his chair, he looks for all the world as if he's perching atop a pincushion. _Poor boy._

_'Poor _you_, more like,' _Draco interjects. _'You're next!'_

"I'll be fine if you stop distracting me," I grumble at him, and Mikail snorts behind me.

"Well, I'm _sorry_ for having to breathe." I can almost _taste_ his sarcasm in the back of my mouth.

"Not you," I say hurriedly. It's getting harder to breathe again.

"Great, so you're just talking to the air again."

_'I'm not air!' _Draco gasps. _'How dare he insult me!'_

"You're part of the reason I'm in this whole mess," I inform him. "So would you please start saying some helpful things, or just shut up so I can _not_ look like a bumbling idiot?"

'_Rude,' _Draco sulks.

'_You've got this!' _the female voice is back, soft and lilting. _'It's only three minutes. How hard can it be?'_

"More difficult than you can imagine." The little pearls by my eyes are itching at my skin and pulling at the hairs on my eyebrows in one of the most painful ways possible. My Stylist had _said_ that they shouldn't cause me any problems. The pearls are quickly evolving from a nuisance into a problem. _Ugh_. At least the ties on the cape aren't strangling me. While the other girls are dressed in lovely gowns, my Stylist has put me in a cape and my training outfit from the last few days. Skin-tight and hugging my every curve, I can see why he selected this for me to wear- although it makes me feel rather exposed, especially to the many prying eyes of the Capitol. That _might_ be what the cape is for, although it was probably intended for more aesthetic purposes. The swirling, supposedly luminescent patterns on its underside are less than noteworthy on their own- barely noticeable against the sea-blue of the fabric. Pressed into my hand was a small remote, which could easily be concealed.. A single, circular button rested right up against my thumb, and Jarvan had told me that when I pushed it, the patterns would light up and flash. I'm not quite sure how that's possible, but with how heavy it feels against my shoulders and back, I wouldn't be surprised. Plus, this is the Capitol. Here, anything is possible.

"Ladies and gentlemen, a warm round of applause for Marina Bloyster of District 4!"

_Me, _I realize, and uneasiness washes through me. _He's talking about me._ My chest constricts, lungs contracting, and the breath is knocked from me. _I need to move. _Thankfully, my feet carry me out towards the stage without me having to work up the nerve to tell them to do so, and then I'm across the dias, standing before Tiberius Hearthstone. He offers me his hand, and I take it, his palm completely dwarfing mine. At his gesture, I follow his lead and sit, folding my legs up underneath me, tucking the cloak around myself. _Just three minutes,_ I remind myself. _Three minutes. _Every voice has evaporated out of my head, along with a fair few of my brain cells, and the rest are getting fried by the spotlight as I struggle to comprehend what Tiberius is saying. My stomach is busy twisting itself into knots, and I can't stop my pinky from twitching back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. An expectant sort of silence has fallen over the crowd. _Are they listening? Has he started talking?_

Oh.

Oh, no. They're waiting for _me_ to answer, which means I've totally missed the question. _Come on, Marina, focus!_ Fighting the blush spreading across my face, hoping the excessive layers of makeup will hide it. "Sorry, what?"

Tiberius laughs good naturedly, and the audience laughs along with him. That only serves to tighten the tension that's wound itself around something vital in my chest. "Seems someone's nervous," he smiles. "I asked how you're liking it, here in the Capitol."

"Oh," I giggle hesitantly. "Um…" _Say something! _"The showers are nice," I blurt out.

Tiberius raises both eyebrows, turning to the back to the assembled crowd. "The showers!" he repeats, making a shower sound like it's the best thing to ever be bestowed on mankind. "Tell me more."

The microphone is back in front of my face. I blink at it for a moment, surely making a total _idiot_ out of myself as I try to think of something suitably funny to say. "Yeah, the showers," is all I can think to say, parroting back at him. "It took me about seven different tries to get actual water to come out of one."

At that, everyone seems to chuckle, at least a little. _Was that good? Maybe that was good._

"Oh, _ho_," Tiberius chortles. "And when was this?" A lifeline. He's throwing me a lifeline.

Now it's just up to me whether or not I can use it to keep from drowning.

o0o

**Ambrose Volta (14) District 5 Tribute**

I am, undeniably, indisputably, and without a doubt, going to throw up all over this man's shiny, shiny black shoes.

It's nothing against him, really. He's doing his best with all of us, trying to bring out the best in everyone here. I've just felt nauseous ever since my Stylist put me in this atrocious pink gown. I mean, _pink. _The color alone might have been enough to make me barf, nevermind the butterflies that have decided to migrate into my stomach. _Oh, God. _It's an effort not to put a hand to my mouth.

"Good evening, Miss Volts!" Tiberius cries, and I try not to wince at the volume of his voice. "That is _quite_ an outfit you have!"

Complete with lace, frills, and skirts heavy enough to make me want to topple over, the monstrosity of a dress nearly blinds me when I glance down at it. "... Yes," I say finally, swallowing down the bile rising in the back of my throat. The stage lights are hot enough, and I'm already sweating under them. But now someone's started up a mist machine somewhere, and it's not doing good things to my gut. "It's… very _pink_."

Tiberius lets out a hoot of laughter, which is quickly echoed by the audience. "Very pink indeed, Ambrose! I'm sure some of our lovely audience members would _love_ to steal that right off you! Maybe even some of your fellow competitors!"

"I'm sure," I say dryly, cutting a glance towards the side of the stage where the rest of the Tributes are lined up and waiting. "Along with a good chunk of skin right off my back."

The corner of Tiberius's mouth curves up into a small smirk. "It _is_ stunning, if I do say so myself."

"Honestly, I think that weaponry suits me better," I clip. In reality, I'm ass at just about any sharp objects you could throw at me, except a steak knife. Or maybe a fork. Yet another distinction that separates me from the members of 5's street gangs.

"Oh? What _sort_ of weaponry, dare I ask?" Tiberius raises an eyebrow. "A sword? Dagger? Bow and arrow?"

"A dagger will do just fine for me, Tiberius, thank you. A sword wouldn't be too bad either, but a bow…" I dare a glance out at the audience, getting a faceful of stage-smoke in the process. "I'd probably end up shooting myself in the foot if I got my hands on one, much less someone else."

That small smile again. _Witty and snarky. Confident and sure. _I have to take everyone out. Sometimes, lies are told to deceive other people. Other times, lies are told to deceive yourself. Today, I'm trying to do both. But lies have never been my strong suit, and the fact that the steak and potatoes I'd eaten just a few hours before are threatening to come right back up isn't doing anything to help.

"I'll leave the foot-shooting to you then, my dear," Tiberius tells me, amusement clear in his voice. "You sound very confident in your abilities in the Arena, and I can only assume that you've found plenty of allies. Who wouldn't want to ally with this cheeky young lady, am I right?" The audience concurs noisily, and Tiberius turns back to me with a grin. "So, Miss Volta?"

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see, Tiberius," I smile back. With all the bluffing I'm doing tonight, even if I did have any allies to speak of, I wouldn't want to put them in danger or put any sort of target on their backs. Other than the one that's already there, of course.

"Oh, come on," Tiberius insists. "Tell us _something,_ at least! _Anything!"_

_I could tell you that I'm about to vomit, I'm sure you'd appreciate that. You did say _anything _after all. _"I guess you'll just have to wait until the Arena," I shrug. "Sorry."

"Oh, please! Just _some_ idea?"

_Idea? Like what? _Everything that comes out of my mouth is utter bullshit anyways. A messy web of lies that I can't even begin to sort back through and untangle.

"Like I said, Tiberius," I force myself to look out at the crowd once more. Of course, doing this comes with a lungful of prosthetic smoke that makes my stomach turn over again. "You're just going to have to wait until the Arena. Besides, there are _other Tributes here_," I emphasize, dropping my voice to a whisper and leaning in conspiratorially. "You can't expect me to be giving away all my plans in front of the competition!"

"No… no, I suppose not," Tiberius aquieces, letting out an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. "Best of luck to you in the Arena, Ambrose Volta," he announces as we stand, the buzzer going off. "I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say that we will _all_ be watching out for you tomorrow!"

o0o

**Lancia Carerra (13) District 6 Tribute**

_Run. _My every instinct screams at me to _run, _because this isn't right. It's not right, sitting here, compliant as a marionette, ready to dance at a moment's notice. "So, Lancia. How are you faring in the Capitol?" Tiberius Hearthstone asks from the chair across from me. His amber eyes are warm, but that's only from their color, and there's nothing _behind_ them. There's no sign of human _emotion _as he watches me, hawklike superiority in his gaze. Like the way a great bird would watch a mouse- tracking it's prey until the time is right, before swooping down and grabbing it up in it's mighty talons.

"I'm doing alright," I answer lamely. "It's… different than 6, but the change is kinda nice." _Ugh, that sounds so stupid. _"It's a lot nicer here," I attempt, before shutting up again. _Likeable but dangerous, _I remind myself. _You need to be likeable but dangerous, neither one of those is pronounced like the word idiot._

"Always good to hear, always good to hear." He leans forward. "So tell me- how do you feel about being here tonight?"

_Risky question._ He must not think that I'm much of anything if he's asking me _that_. It's a safe question for the Careers, who will presumably give the answer of being excited and whatnot, but to ask someone from a lower District… _does he really think so little of me?_

Everything involving strategy and likeability and danger goes flying out of my head. _Do you really think I'm so acquiescent that I'll say that I'm _honored_ to be here? That I'll lie for your sake? To make you and this whole charade look good?_ "Honestly?" I ask. _There. I'm giving you an out. An opportunity to save yourself, before I ruin everything you've ever known._

"Honestly." _Thank you._

"Well, tonight, as you've told everyone here, is the eve of the 26th annual Hunger Games," The crowd cheers at this, and I let my nose crinkle in pure, undiluted disgust as I stare out at everyone. Once the noise ceases, with some help from Tiberius's _shushing_ motions, I continue. "It's the eve of the Hunger Games. And those Hunger Games are most likely going to kill me." Only silence greets that statement. "I'm 13," I tell the sea of wigs and glitter before me. "The only things I have waiting back home for me is a life, a father who loves me, and a friend who is in desperate need of my help." _Jericho. _I think back to all those afternoons we spent, stowed away together in the back of a train car, the smell of smoke or weed in the air, scenery flying past us. The way he always respected my boundaries, never made a single move even when he was high as a kite, or under the influence of alcohol. My father, stuck in the house with that _witch,_ all alone, without me there to hug him or sneak into his room at night during a thunderstorm to curl up with him like I did when I was younger. Whatever there is waiting for me back at home, _who_ever waits for me back home, won't ever see me again. _I _won't ever see them again. My father's jean jacket that's wrapped around my shoulders is all the physical reminder that I have left of him. I'm like a cub who has been snatched away from home, helpless, and carried through the air by some great hunting bird, taking me back to its nest to feast on. "All this is, is the lot of _you_," I wave towards the audience, "destroying 23 families and murdering their children."

"Oh," Tiberius says quietly. Hushed in the space between us. If I hadn't known better, I might have even believed the note of grief in his voice. But no. This is the Capitol, and these are called the Hunger _Games_ for a reason. It's all some sport to them, something to bet on and chatter about until the next year comes, a new batch of children who they send to their death without a second thought.

_This isn't how my life should have gone. _As horrible as my situation was back home, I didn't have the threat of death constantly looming over me. Even Mazda couldn't compare to what I was about to face, and this is something I cannot run from. All my life, I've been running away from my problems, bolting at the first sight of danger, and I can't do that in the Arena. Even if I somehow make it anywhere near the top, I'm going to be hunted. At least _she_ didn't track me, follow me when I snuck out of the house and fled down to the train station. The Careers here will- and they'll be carrying weapons. Swords, axes, knives, whatever they can get their hands on. And I'll be on their target list.

There is no safe place, not anymore. There won't be anyone to run to and curl up against in the Arena when a thunderstorm hits. Even if I'm in one of the biggest alliances in Hunger Games history, it's not going to be enough. Not in the end. The Bloodbath is our first test, and it's one even I'm not sure we can pass.

Tiberius seems to be at a loss for words, as he hasn't said anything since that second question. _Good._ The Capitol seems to be in shock as well, soft murmurs breaking out, but nothing more.

I've given this everything I have. I've shown them what I think, told the Districts what I think, told _Panem_ how I feel about this. Now all I can do is hope that my message has been received.

The buzzer sounds, and I rise from my seat. I keep my face unreadable, a wall of impenetrable stone as I square my shoulders and walk offstage.

There's nothing left for me to do, not really. For all the fronting I've done, for all the disgust and loathing I've thrown their way, it hasn't changed a thing. It hasn't changed a single god-damn thing, because I'm trapped beneath the Capitol's sharp, massive claws, and they're only inches away from sinking into my throat.

o0o

**A/N: Heyo, everyone! So, yes, this isn't depicting training day 4. It's the night of day 5 in the Capitol, and those were the first half of the interviews. I did some shuffling, and now the Bloodbath is chapter 23, can you believe that? I hope you enjoyed the chapter and got a better feel for the tributes, and maybe felt inspired to move a few around in your opinions list! The chapter title is from **_**Could Have Been Me**_**, which is also by The Struts. Sponsoring is now open from now until the end of the Games, although I would suggest getting your requests in now, as prices will go up as the Games continue. The link to the form is on my profile, and will be used by both reader AND submitter sponsors.**

**Over and out, may the odds be **_**ever**_** in your favor,**

**-SetFires (Vixen)**


	22. An Untold Story pt 2

_"I'll give you one night only_

_For your eyes only_

_If entertainment's what's you want_

_Then, honey, I'm the best..."_

_~One Night Only (The Struts)_

o0o

**Elwood Liang (14) District 7 Tribute**

Thirteen heads turn as Lancia strides back across the stage and past the screens that shield the rest of us from view. Her eyes narrow. "What do you think you're looking at?" _Woah. Pissy much? _Most of the others look away, but I continue to study her. _I didn't think she had it in her. Not after what I saw during her Reaping recap. I guess that first impressions aren't everything after all. _"Got a problem, Elwood?" Lancia's nostrils are flared, now. A clear signal of her irritation.

"None at all," I say, and run a new eye across her. She's no longer the scared, ready-to-run girl I had seen when we first got here. Now, she's grown into her own skin. Something inside of her has changed, some deep integral part, even over the course of five or so days. "You've got spirit, Lancia. I respect that."

She takes a step back, eyebrows high. Fumbling for words for a moment, she finally settles on, "O-oh. Thanks, El."

"We're allies," I grin. "We're supposed to recognize each other and our respective strengths, yeah?"

Lancia flounders for a moment, words gone, but Scythe saves her, metaphorical hands stretching out, offering a lifeline. "You're with us now, remember? We stick together, no matter what."

The other girl looks down, cheeks flaming almost as red as the Wolfchild's hair. "Thanks, guys," she whispers. "I'm- I'm sorry for being so confrontational, earlier, Elwood."

"Don't worry about it," I laugh it off, waving a hand as Danielle Oakwood is called to the stage. "Ride together, die together, right? I mean, that's way too literal for this situation, but a little standoff isn't gonna alienate you to us or anything, okay?"

Lancia's shoulders droop slightly, but whether it's from relief or exhaustion, I can't tell. "Alright. Good luck, you guys."

"See you in the Arena, Lancia," Scythe answers, and with a shock, I realize that yes, the next time I'll see any of my allies after tonight, is in the Arena.

_Right. These are the Hunger Games. Get it together, Elwood. These are the Hunger Games, and the people you're about to put on a show for are the people who would like nothing more than see me dead._

"Elwood Liang!"

I don't know when Danielle's interview finished._ But that doesn't matter now. Now, it's showtime. _

The stage is hard beneath my feet, solid and reassuring as I stride over to where Tiberius is standing beside two chairs.

"Elwood Liang, everyone! He turns to me, the biggest, broadest, _fakest_ smile on his face. It's not a good look on him. Makes his face too wrinkly. "So, Elwood. How are you liking the Capitol? Are you enjoying your stay?"

Ignoring his offered hand, I slump down into the chair. The anger I've been stomping down on these last few days is easy to call up now. _Am I enjoying my stay? _What a ridiculous question._ Almost as ridiculous as the people here. _I snort, injecting as much venom into my voice as possible, recalling something the beautiful girl from 1 had said in the elevator on our way down. "Oh, I don't know, Tiberius. This is a place where people live stream teenagers murdering each other for sport, what am I supposed to think about it?"

Shocked whispers work their way around the room. Tiberius himself even looks taken aback at my brashness, before bursting into a loud, booming laugh. _Good God. Does anything ever faze these people? _Well, I do suppose that our Escort was more than caught off-guard when I snatched her wig right before dinner or dyed it brown by pouring that hot chocolate all over it when no one was looking.

"Cheeky!" Tiberius exclaims to the crowd, but there's a vein standing out on the side of his neck. _Good. _"We've seen bravery, boldness, and even tears on occasion from other Tributes, but there are no tears in Elwood's eyes." He sits down, crossing one leg over the other. "Elwood, you are angry. Why is that?"

"Well, Tiberius, it's not that hard to figure out. I had my whole life ahead to me in District 7." _Well, I would have probably ended up in jail one way or the other, but no one needs to know that. _"And now I'm here, and I'm going to die in less than 24 hours. It's pretty great, if you really think about it, yeah? 24 hours, in comparison to 24 years. Gee, I wonder which one I'd like better? Of course, I'm _angry_, Tiberius. What do you expect?"

"So you're not dreading your…imminent end, then?" Tiberius sounds strained now.

"What do you think?" I demand. "What would be going through your head if you were in my place? What would you be feeling? Anger isn't the only feeling one can experience, you know."

He's visibly taken aback for a moment, lips parting, eyes going wide, and a fierce rush of pride goes through me at the expression. _Yes. Look what you've done. See how we all feel, deep, deep down. _

"Well, I-" he starts, but obviously thinks better of whatever he was going to say beforehand. "I'm glad that you're so… passionate about this, Elwood."

_"Passionate?" _I snap. "_Passionate_ doesn't even begin to cover it, Tiberius. I don't _want _to die, do you understand me? I'm _fucking terrified, _and I'm _furious._" Some of the members in the audience flinch back at my careless use of profanity, but I barrel onwards. "And this is the Capitol, huh? Where the most luxurious of foods arrive at the push of the button, and if you don't have _this_ diamond mantlepiece or _that_ silk curtain, you're not good enough?" I let out a breathless laugh, devoid of humor or amusement. Shake my head. "I don't even know what to say to you guys."

But I do know. I want to be like Lancia, bold enough to come right out with it, to call them monsters right to their faces and see how they like it. To tell them exactly what they're doing to us and what we think about it. But I am not brave like her. I'm not brave, or selfless, or smart enough to do any of those things.

Instead, I just fix a look of utter repulsion on my face, let lip curl in a snarl as I glare out at the audience.

Tiberius opens his mouth again, asks something about the Games, and I scoff.

"I'm _obviously_ not walking out of that Arena alive," I keep my voice scornful, condescending, even as my stomach churns at the prospect of dying _tomorrow._ "What do I look like to you, a Career? I'm not even going to make it past the Bloodbath, much less make it to the finale. I'm a 14-year-old kid who's gonna die _tomorrow_, and there are people out there who are gonna laugh and cheer as I die. Yeah, that sounds like a bucket-load of fun, I'm looking forward to it."

I had learned something, from those three days in the lunchroom and in training with my allies. With the people I have come to call my friends. Honesty, with your allies, in a situation like this, is key. The truth could make the difference between life or death. Honesty with the audience, here, on the stage and burning under the spotlight, pouring out your whole story so the Capitol knows what they're doing, so the _Gamemakers_ know what they're doing.

And most important, honesty with yourself. I came to terms with my date a long time ago. Back when my name was called for the Reapings. I'm_ not going to survive this, no. But I'm going to take as many people as I can down with me. I'm not going down without a fight._

o0o

**Sash Radcliffe (16) District 8 Tribute**

Everyone is still in shock after Elwood storms off the stage and is greeted with soft whoops and pats on the back when he returns. I don't blame anyone who leans over to congratulate him. What he did out there was brave. Stupid and reckless, yes, but brave. And as a follow-up to the point that Lancia Careera drove home, that makes a powerful bomb that maybe I can add onto. Or maybe even ignite.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the one I think we've all been waiting for, the bassist of one of Panem's most popular bands, _The Mortal Instruments_, give it up for Sash Radcliffe!"

_No different. This is no different than going on stage for a gig or sitting down for an interview, or anything else. You are playing the crowd and giving them what they want, and that is all that matters. Stop being selfish. It's only three minutes of your life. _Three minutes. Three minutes, of what could possibly be one of my last days of life.

"Sash!" Tiberius exclaims as I walk onstage, waving to the crowd and tilting my head in the trademark gesture they've come to associate with me. "What a sight you _are!_"

Truly. It seems that my Stylist wants me to make every teenage girl- and quite possibly more than a few boys- burst into flames at the sight of me. Fishnet, leather, glinting metal chains. Yes, what I sight I am _indeed_.

"I think your Stylist has outdone themselves this time! And I'm sure," he adds, with a wiggle of his thick eyebrows, "That there are many, _many_ people out there who are enjoying the view."

I try not to let my nostrils flare. He speaks as if I am some animal, some caged exhibit to be exclaimed and admired and gawked at.

"As is your _boyfriend,_ I'm sure." he continues. Puts emphasis on _boyfriend_. Looks at me, eyebrows still raised. Expectant. Awaiting an answer.

"Well, we all know who and what I have waiting for me back home, and that's romance enough for most of you out there." I force words out past the bile in my throat, past the lump of brick that's settled there. "But here…" I trail off. My words feel unnatural, stilted, but I need them to stop talking about me. Even if this burning spotlight is on me, I am here to turn their attention towards the other Tributes. I am a sniper, in the Arena. I stay unnoticed, camouflaged among shadows and light until the time comes to strike.

"Here?" Tiberius prompts. _It's working. _ "Do we have any fledgling romances ready to take flight?"

I let my eyes sweep the room. Slowly. Drawing out the tension. Also, wasting a good few seconds. It's a trick at least one of my bandmates or I use- _used-_ in an interview had any sort of time restraint whatsoever. Even a few seconds could make a crucial difference, in case of a slip-up or unconscious mistake.

Finally, I relent, turn back to Tiberius. "There's enough tension here as it is, with all of us being in the same room for the majority of five days, cooped up like wild animals before being released into the wild to go kill each other. So I'm asking all of you back there,"

I wave a hand towards where the other Tributes are, "to _please_ not add the sexual kind to that tension, I can barely sleep well enough as it is. So, for the love of all that is good and holy, just accept your circumstances, the people around you, and maybe even do something bizarre like _holding hands._" The audience chuckles at that. I lean back in the chair, and raise a shoulder in what I hope is an insolent shrug. "Or just eat each other's faces off, I really couldn't care less, just don't do it where I can see you."

Laughter. _Good._ My mental clock ticks down. _Two minutes._ _Keep them laughing, keep them occupied. Don't let him ask about your alliance._ I never thought I would be part of the Career Pack, the group of hunters that takes pride and joy in killing. Rollag and I swore that we would never be that cold-hearted. Never. And yet here I am and have grown to almost call Thames Venturi a friend. Here I am, having laughed with Halliday Frost and Athena Shier of Districts 1 and 2 over lunch about an utterly stupid, _filthy_ joke that Aegis Harlow made about ginger root and its many uses. _What am I becoming?_

Tiberius is saying something else. Or, at least, I think he is. His lips are moving, but it's like I'm underwater and his words aren't registering in my mind. But the audience is still laughing, although there are thoughtful mutters going around, and I vaguely make out the words _Arena_ and _plan._

_Smile. _I have to force another smile. Probably showing too many teeth, but so what? I _am_ under duress. For all the pressure I've been put under with the media and the fans and everything in my insane, glittering, short life, I've never been trained for anything like this. I wasn't taught how to smile as if the weight of the death isn't resting on my shoulders, digging talons into my skin, and threatening to shred bone. I don't know how to laugh as if nothing's bothering me, when my stomach is twisting into knots at the thought of putting an arrow through someone else's throat or heart or, really, anything.

"So?" Tiberius leans forward, microphone extended towards me. "What _do_ you have planned for the Arena?"

_Shit. _The topic isn't going to be moving off me anytime soon. Once Tiberius gets started, there's no stopping him_. _I grit my teeth. _I'm a media-trained professional. How would Rollag handle this? _I'm about to respond, my mind already having found a twisted, complicated way around the question, before pausing. These could very well be the last time Rollag sees me before I'm killed. Tomorrow. In the Arena. He wouldn't want to see the media side of me. Not now. Not with the possibility that we might not see each other again looming dark and menacing over our shoulders. _Honesty. _I need to be honest.

"I have a strong group of allies behind me who I trust, for now." I swallow. Heavily. _I'm sorry, Rollag. I'm so, so sorry._ "And by the time I'm finished with them, I'm going to have a weapon in my hand and a strategy to win."

My time is almost up. _One more question. He'll have one more question, and then I can go._

"It sounds like everyone should be looking out for you, Sash Radcliffe," he smiles. "Although you'll certainly be one to watch, if only because of who you are to the rest of Panem." A wink thrown in the direction of the cameras, the watching Capitol people.

I shrug. Nonchalance. Ease. My rockstar status has been brought up hundreds of times. This one is be no different. _Except it is._ Aegis had stopped on his way back towards the elevator bank. Put his hand on my arm, whispered, _'Make them remember,' _into my ear. _Make them remember._ Remember me. Remember us, remember what they're doing to everyone here, that we're not so different, us and them. I take a deep breath. Air in. Air out.

"Well, actually," I start, and Tiberius cocks his head to the side. Attention caught. Holding.

"Although my problems might look a hell of a lot different, they're actually, fundamentally, the same." I take another breath. Meet someone's eyes in the audience. "Loss feels the same. Heartbreak feels the same.

"The fundamental, hurtful things for a human are all the same. I feel like I have to stress that a lot, nowadays, because there are so many fanatical people out there who find it hard to believe that I'm actually a person. I'm not so different from anyone else here, actually. I've got feelings, emotions, and I don't always feel like I'm on top of the world. Honestly… it's not that hard to understand. I'm a person too."

I glance up, straight towards a camera that's been tracking me throughout the interview. "I'm just like you."

o0o

**Jordan Wheaton (16) District 9 Tribute**

The tension in the massive room is almost palpable as I settle into the chair across from Tiberius. The three minute timer has started, and I can almost hear the _tick, tick, tick_ as it counts down the seconds. There's a bomb, here, and after Lancia's shocking outburst in her interview, each and every Tribute has been packing it full of explosives, and Scythe has done her part.

Scythe had been ruthless- her words, although she spoke few of them, harsh- tearing into the Capitol with the sort of malicious glee that only one who has been holding a grudge for the past seventeen years of life can accomplish. I can't blame her- I don't know the entire story of what happened between her and her mother, Valkyrie Summers, previously known as Skyra Tonium, no one does- but from the bitterness of her voice, it was nothing good. _Now it's my turn._

I _know_ that I can diffuse the tension in the room- at least for this small span of time I've been granted. It would be easy to offer the soothing words, bandage wounds, close cuts instead of shredding in deeper. _And it would be easier still to reach in and plant an infection. _ Plant an infection, and watch it fester.

_It's what they deserve,_ some dark, twisted corner of my mind whispers. _They are corrupted, and there is no way you can save them now._

But that wouldn't be right. While the lines are so often blurred, this one, drawn between good and evil, is clear. _I know what I have to do._

Each question I answer, with each word that comes out of my mouth, the strained feeling in the room begins to dissolve. Shoulders relaxing, postures slumping. I make sure to keep my voice soft, and answer questions as they come, giving a solid, honest answer, but not providing anymore than I absolutely have too.

_What do you think of the Capitol? _It's quite colorful. The hot chocolate is wonderful.

_Are you prepared for the Arena? _No, I'm not, but I don't think anyone is.

_Is there anyone special waiting for you back home?_

I pause. An affirmation, her name, is on the tip of my tongue. _Aaliyah. _Her face, streaked with dirt and eyes shining with accomplishment, flashes before me. She kissed me, in the visiting rooms. She kissed me, and I kissed her back, and it was transcendent.

I think back to everyone who came before me. Sash, with his brilliant, talented, rockstar of a boyfriend waiting for him back in 8, tour postponed for the time being. Elwood, with a girl named Maya who I've heard him talking about from time to time in the lunchroom. Lancia, and the friend she had talked about with such a fervid tone, with urgency lacing her every word. _There are so many people who are playing this card. Do I really want to throw myself in with everyone else?_

_It's a show. That's all it is. Even if I tell them about Aaliyah, I'll just be one more Tribute with someone I love to fight for. There's nothing special about me, not that I can show off to the Capitol besides my strength, and that's not impressive, not in comparison to what some of those Careers can do. _

Sash had briefly touched on something in his interview. Something that sparks an idea, switches on a light in the back of my head.

It's a risk. And it's a betrayal- a betrayal of the promises I've made, another commandment broken. _Neither shall thou bear false witness against thy neighbor._

_Oh, Aaliyah. I hope you'll be able to forgive me for this. I hope you understand._

Tiberius is looking at me expectantly. I shift in my seat. Swallow. _So, Jordan. Is there anyone in particular who you're fighting particularly hard to go home too?_ The words feel unnatural- both the ones in my throat and the ones that have just come out of the Master of Ceremonies's mouth. My Adam's apple bobs.

"No," I force out. The word tears at my throat like shards of glass as it comes out, and I grit my teeth around the phantom pain. "Not at home, no."

"Not at home?" Tiberius raises an eyebrow. "You make it sound like there _is_ someone though, right?"

"Right." Something cracks in my chest. It might be my heart, but I can't think over the blood rushing in my ears. _Liar. Liar, liar, liar. _"She's not in 9. And she won't be waiting for me when I go back home."

Tiberius takes a deep breath. Asks the question that will surely be my damnation, the one that alienates me to the one girl who I have wanted my entire life. "Then where is she, Jordan? If she's not in 9…" he lets his voice die. A gasp goes up from the people before us.

"Then she's here in the Capitol," I finish for him, and the _thing _in my chest finally finishes breaking. "She's here, and I don't think she really even knows I exist."

Not anymore. Not after what I've just said. I can almost _hear _Aaliyah's sobs, even with the miles between us, see the tears streaming down her round, beautiful face. _I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. _Except sorry doesn't even begin to cover it. You say sorry when you run into someone in the cafeteria lunch line, or when you accidentally bump into them on the sidewalk. You can't mend a broken heart with the words, _I'm sorry_. I can't mend hers. Just like I can't mend mine.

"Oh." Tiberius sounds as if someone's just stabbed him through the chest with a spear made of ice. I think I know how he feels. "Oh."

"Yeah," is all I can think to say. And then proceed to stare at my booted feet like the _coward_ I am, refusing to look up until the buzzer goes off a few seconds later. I feel like I want to find the deepest, darkest hole in all of Panem. I want to find that hole, curl up in it, and die. I don't want to be here. Nobody in their right mind does. But especially not me.

The words- the single word- plays in my mind as I step offstage. _No. _No, I do not have anyone back home. No, that kiss I gave the girl of my dreams less than a week ago didn't mean anything. _No._

_Aaliyah._

_I'm sorry._

o0o

**Sierra Encantada (14) District 10 Tribute**

Three minutes. That's all I have. Three minutes until I'm onstage. Until I'm being displayed before the Capitol like some prize breed, for them to _ooh_ and _ahh_ at before I'm put down like all the others.

We used to take a few of our horses to the District fair, which occurs every other year, and we'd often bring home a ribbon and a large sack of oats for the lucky steed. More often than not, it would be Tempest who won us first place.

My heart pangs at the reminder of my beloved horse: a magnificent spotted silver stallion with a black mane and tail highlighted with white. He has two matching white anklets on his back legs, along with a white socks on his front left, which always made me laugh as a child.

Jordan Wheaton's clock counts down. I bite my lip, and tap my toes against the floor. It's a bit of an effort, given the high-heeled boots they've put me in, but I manage. The deerskin of my jacket is supple and soft against the bare skin of my shoulders and arms.

"Nervous?" Brandon murmurs from behind me, and I give a shake my head, fast. My braid _swishes_ with the movement. "Just remember what Lenlas told us, and you'll be fine."

_"You have to make yourself stand out. Both of you are already cool under pressure, and Sierra, you can use your wit to your advantage. Just like Brandon will use his charisma. But you're going to have to make a name for yourself._

_"Even if you have to lie, find something that will make you different than the rest. A vendetta, a promise you made to someone back home… they'll eat up things like that. If you have an ulterior motive- something's that not just your desire to live. The more tragic it is, the better." _

Kit. I'll have to tell them about Kit. He's been my deepest, most treasured secret for the majority of my life. He knows what he means to me- but no one else does. And I don't want to break the news on camera, before all of Panem. _I'm going to die anyway, and this secret, these feelings, could ruin Kit and Julia. _I can't do that to them, can I? I'm not _that_ selfish… right? Julia's face when she sees him walking down the dirt roads towards our small ranch... her smile as he sweeps her up into his arms and kisses her breathless… I can't take that away from her, can I? She and Kit had been happy together, once. Perhaps, with me gone, they can find that happiness again.

But there's no way that can happen if I open my mouth in three minutes and let every secret I've ever kept come spilling out.

_Do I have any choice? _I could lie, but I hate doing such. Something about actively deceiving someone with no other intention but your own gain seems wrong to me. I can't bring myself to look Tiberius- look the Capitol, hell, all of _Panem_\- in the eye and tell him that I have an 8-year-old sister back home who's dying of some terminal disease. Because everyone back home knows the truth- knows my family, and if I lie here, it will reflect poorly on both my family and myself. More my family, though. I'll be dead, so I won't be around to see the aftermath of my destructive words. _That's not necessarily a good thing._

_It won't be enough to explain why I Volunteered. _I know that it won't be. If I were watching, I know I certainly wouldn't remember something like that. It might make my heart hurt for a span of a few hours, maybe a day, but when I woke up the following morning, I'd forget all about the girl from 10.

But if I can't lie, the only other option there is to tell the truth. _Kit… Julia… _but what if I do win? What if, by some miraculous twist of fate, I make it through all of this? Kit used to say that nothing was impossible- only improbable. At the time, I had laughed at the thought- the idea of Tempest growing wings and a horn, like the mythical creatures in one of my childhood storybooks was almost too much to handle. Now, though...

_Nothing is impossible. Only improbable._

These are the Hunger Games. The odds are in no one's favor.

Jordan's buzzer goes off. The crowd stays silent- whatever bomb he dropped, while I was too lost in my own thoughts to pay much attention to his interviews, must have come down hard.

_Not too much longer now..._

"From District 10, the lovely Sierra Encantada!"

_Now is my chance. I_ exhale sharply, closing my eyes for a brief moment. Kit's face flashes behind my eyelids- only for a heartbeat. It's the final weight that tips the scales of my decision. If I want there to be any chance of a future where Kit and I live together in the Victors' Village of 10, I have to tell him how I feel. Not the hurried, frantic words we had exchanged in the visiting rooms. He deserves far more than that. He deserves ballads and poetry and confessions of undying love.

I've had two, three years to think about what I'd say if I ever got the chance. To compose a melody, and let my heart carry the beat. Words are already on the tip of my tongue- fluttering on my lips like butterflies. Eager to take flight. To announce themselves to the world.

_I am ready. And I know what I have to do._

o0o

**Natalia 'Nat' Oakly (17) District 11 Tribute**

The boy from 10, Brandon Scorn, has exactly two minutes and seventeen seconds left in his interview. I know because I've been counting down the ticks of an invisible clock ever since his name was called. If it weren't for the way his fingers are relentlessly drumming on the arm of his chair, I might say that he's a natural under the spotlight. Charismatic, a light sense of humor and a grand story to tell- no doubt wholly exaggerated to win the favor of the Capitol.

I watch as he laughs with the crowd and cracks jokes of his own. As he tells an anecdote about when, before the Reapings, he and his best friend- girlfriend?- Stephanie got into a fight in the stables and wound up throwing pitchfork sized loads of horse shit at each other. ("I don't think I'll ever wash that stench off, tell me you can't smell anything,") And thus started a whole run where he and Tiberius took turns smelling each other and fretting about the perils of manure stains.

Onstage, Brandon pats down his clothes, smoothing out his blazer and looking worriedly at the white silk shirt beneath. "That's not a speck of brown I see, is it?" He points at a seemingly random spot on the cloth, but Tiberius leans over and agrees, wide-eyed. Hoots of laughter ring out from the area beyond the stage, and my stomach churns.

No matter how nice these people seem now, they're going to be whooping and hollering just as loudly when one of us gets skewered on a spearhead. _I can't trust anyone. _Not here. I can't trust my alliance, my surroundings… sometimes I don't even know if I can trust myself.

Guilt, razor-edged and scraping, tugs at something beneath my breastbone. I should have been there when Lauren almost broke down before her private session. I should have been the one to comfort her, not Ambrose. Not the District partner of the most unstable Tribute out of us all.

But I was halfway across the room, talking with the boy onstage, and didn't even notice the problem until too late. And then Ambrose was there- act firmly in place, because it had to be one. No one in their right mind would step out of their way to help another Tribute who wasn't their ally. You just don't do it. The rules of the game are kill or be killed. There is no room for sentiment.

But Ambrose _had_ helped. She _had_ shown compassion, without batting an eyelash. _Flawless, perfect, beautiful imposter._

Well. If she can act, so can I.

I smooth my hands down the fabric of tonight's outfit. The ombre dress is beautiful, and my designer's eye can't help but be pleased at its cut and hemlines. It's tight in all the right places and loose in all others, fades from lavender into light pink and blue. It's impossibly soft- the silk smooth against my skin, unlike anything I've ever felt before. Flowers are woven into my hair, and the glittering lip gloss isn't a bad touch either.

_While I may be dressed as a goddess of death, I have no intention of becoming one. _Persephone, or at least, that's what the ancient myths call her.

"Natalia Oakly!" Tiberius smiles too wide, showing off far too many white, white teeth. " Welcome to the Capitol! How are you enjoying your stay here?"

"I'm enjoying it quite a lot, actually, thank you for asking!" I beam at him. "I never knew that there were so many colors, and the _food…_" I let my eyelids flutter, trailing off.

"Yes, our food _is_ quite delectable," Tiberius allows, and there is no small amount of pride in his voice. "What has your favorite dish been, so far?"

"Definitely the watermelon." I punctuate this statement with a decisive nod. "Or the kiwi. Even though it's green."

Tiberius chuckles at this. "Yes, I do suppose that eating something green would take some getting used to, especially since you're from 11, right?"

Indignation flares up in my chest, and it's a struggle to bite back the sharp retort on the tip of my tongue. _How dare you insult my District. How dare you speak of our poverty so flippantly. _He knows that we're not allowed to eat any of the food we harvest. He has too.

"That's right, Tiberius!" I smile- aiming for bright and maybe a little flirtatious. I'm sure it comes out as more of a grimace. "District 11! It's quite nice there, as well, but _nothing_ can compare to what it's like here."

_Liar. _I'm a coward and a liar for saying such things, and I'm sure that I will have to do it all again before this is all over. District 11 is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and nothing in this place can ever compare. The trees are too perfect, the plants too green to be real. Everything about the Capitol seems artificial, and the nature here is no different.

_I probably won't ever see District 11 again. Ever. I won't see my mother or Peter or… anyone. _

I'm knocking on Death's door, and it's only a matter of time before it opens and Death invites me in. Invites me in, and will never let me leave. _Focus, Natalia. _I'm not dead yet, and I'm going to do everything in my power to stay that way. I'm dressed as Persephone, the goddess of the underworld, but she only stays with Hades for six months of the year. And then she comes back to the surface, to her mother, and that's when the sun is shining and crops begin to grow.

Six months. I must survive the Arena, my underworld, and come out victorious so I can return home.

o0o

**Aveline Wren (16) District 12 Tribute**

The spotlight is hot on my skin, making me squirm at the sweat dripping down the small of my back. I can't help but reach up to rub at the tip of my ear, a habit that I've not been able to break, hard as I try. My ears are no longer sunburnt- my prep team had put some kind of salve on them the first day I arrived, and now the skin is smooth and as tan as the rest of me.

High-waisted pants, cream-coloured and billowing, are almost long enough to cover my feet, which are in mid-heel casual sandals. The lower half of what might have been a modest shirt, the neckline skimming just below my collar bones, has been shorn away, revealing a strip of skin at my navel. In all honesty… I kind of like it. It makes me feel more feminine- showing off skin. Around my waist is tied a golden sash of silk, and it's so very tempting to play with its loose, hanging end.

For once in my life, I do not feel plain. I feel vibrant, and lively, and full of bursting color. It's _intoxicating_, and it's almost like I'm drugged on the feeling.

But even with this strange, _wonderful_ feeling humming in my blood, my stomach's still twisted in knots. No euphoria in all of Panem could make me forget about what awaits me tomorrow. _The Hunger Games._

"And that chariot ride," Tiberius is saying. I must have missed his segway. "That was _quite_ the outfit, Aveline! You were, quite literally, _on fire!_ How did you feel?"

I wet my lips, mulling over my possible answers. I could be honest and witty: say that I was terrified that I was going to be burned to a crisp in a matter of seconds. Or, I could be confident: tell him that I had no fear whatsoever. I settle on the second choice.

"In all honesty Tiberius, I felt powerful." His mouth curves up at the corners. _Genuine, or playing his part? _"I knew the fire wasn't going to harm me- because I'm a Tribute, and nothing will kill me before the Arena." The words _'kill me before the Arena'_ stuck in my throat. _Yes, I'm going to die in the next few days. I have to deal with that. _"So I just let it happen. Damn cool effect too, wouldn't you agree?" I turn to the crowd, and they roar their agreement.

_At least they'll remember me for something when I'm gone. _Even if I wasn't as spectacular as District 1, I've made my mark.

"Besides," I add, acting on a split second idea. "That fire might have given me a few ideas for my stay in the Arena."

_Ooooh, _goes the crowd.

"Fire, you say?" Tiberius prompts. "What plans might you have, Aveline? Are you nervous?"

"Hell yeah, I'm nervous." _Who wouldn't be?_ I was near hysteria on the way here- and this interview is doing nothing to help that. Amber told me that there are two major reactions to trauma- laughter or tears, and thank god it's not the latter. The girl from 8, Santeena, almost ran off the stage when she was finished. There were no tears in front of the Capitol, luckily, but when she returned to where some of the others who had finished their interviews were waiting for the rest of us to be done, there were mascara tracks down her face.

_I will not break down. I am stronger than that. Lauren and Danielle and Natalia were stronger than I was. If they were strong, I will be strong, because we must be one working unit._

But Natalia had not been there during Lauren's breakdown before her private session. Instead, it had been Ambrose- the girl from 5, who almost never interacted with others. _Are we splitting apart so early? Betraying each other so soon? _

The buzzing is gone and it's replaced by a heavy, sinking feeling. _All this- the planning, the nights spent talking about anything but the Games, the groundwork we've laid down for this alliance… will the safety net hold? _There's nothing I can do about it now, though. All I can do is wait, helpless, and there's nothing I hate more than being incapable of doing anything to alter the inevitable.

The rest of the interview drags by. I try to keep my answers light, upbeat, and it seems like I succeed in my endeavours. Mostly.

The buzzer goes off. Tiberius stands with me, raises my hand in the air like he did with every other girl. "Aveline Wren, everybody!"

Behind the safety of the screens, I stop walking. Take a calming breath, filling my lungs with oxygen.

"Hey," a voice says from behind me, and I jump. It's Thorne. Dressed in black, with a cloak of embroidered stars and moons, a deck of cards in hand. "Good job out there."

His eyes- wintery pools of blue, stare earnestly into mine, and my heart begins to pound.

"Y-yeah," I stutter out. "You- you too. Good luck, I mean. Because you haven't gone yet."

Gentle amusement fills that aquamarine gaze. "Thanks, Aveline."

Then he's gone, whisked away by a summons from a king to his entertainer.

_You too? Because you haven't gone yet? What's wrong with me? _

His interview goes by in what seems like a blink of an eye. Too fast. Those three minutes, which seemed so long when I was the one up there, entertaining the crowd, go by too fast. The buzzer goes off, and a sense of finality washes over all of us.

Ever the mysterious performer, Thorne sweeps his cloak around himself, silver flashing bright as his smile under the spotlight, and as he stands back up, his eyes meet mine from center stage. The interviews are over. Tomorrow, whether we are ready for it or not, we will be sent to the Arena where we will fight for our lives. _Welcome to the real world, Aveline,_ I remind myself. There will be no more stolen moments on the rooftop of the Training Center, no more magic tricks and secretive smiles. _Ladies and gentlemen, let the 26th Hunger Games begin._

o0o

**A/N: Welcome back to the second half of the interviews, everybody! That does it for the Capitol stages, and next week the bloodshed will commence! We do seem to have a fairly large Bloodbath if I do say so myself, so get ready for it! (All the eulogies I have to write, goodness…) Apologies for the late update, but I was taking a short break from Locked and Loaded, just for the sake of my mental health. I needed to have some breathing room without having to write at least 1k (soon to be 2-3k) a day to continue with a consistent update schedule, which you guys more than deserve. But I'm back now, and relatively sane! Yay! The chapter title is from **_**Could Have Been Me**_**, which is also by The Struts. **

**Over and out, see you in the Arena, and may the odds be **_**ever**_** in your favor,**

**-SetFires (Vixen)**


	23. As We Fall

_"I can't hold on much longer_

_We're drifting down to the other side_

_Tried to pull us under_

_Keep holding out for the other side…"_

_~As We Fall (League of Legends)_

o0o

**Aegis Harlow (18) District 2 Tribute**

_"Sneak out closer to dawn," Thames whispers against my chest, face tucked into the curve of where my neck meets my shoulder. His voice is rough around the edges, and his movements are sluggish as he curls farther into me. One of his legs slides beneath mine, and he lets out a long, slow breath, muscles going loose. _

_"Thames, I need to go," I murmur into his ear, and he lets out something akin to a whine at my words. _

_"Stay," he insists. His lips move against my skin, soft against my collarbone. He plants sleepy, butterfly kisses along the side of my neck. "Come on, Age. Just a few more minutes." _

_"Thames," I reach up to run a hand through his tangled hair. "Thames, I need to go. We have a big day ahead of us, and I can't be missed."_

_He sits up then, the sheets pooling around his waist, pale and breathtaking in the moonlight that pours in from the open curtains. "Where will you sleep?" He asks, golden eyes finding mine. They're still slightly foggy, and he blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision. "The whole reason you're here in the first place is 'cause you _didn't_ have a place to sleep. Why go back at," he peers blearily at the clock. "Three in the morning, when you could just stay with me?"_

_I prop myself up against the obscene amount of pillows at the head of the bed. "I'll just sleep on the couch." Ah yes. The couch. It's more comfortable than the floor, granted, but still. It's a couch, even if it's a Capitol couch, and couches were not made to be slept on for long amounts of time._

_"You'd rather sleep on a couch than with me?" Thames asks, and there's still a hint of vulnerability in his voice as he looks over at me._

_My heart pangs, and I soften my voice. "That's not what I meant." A wry smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. "You make an excellent bedmate, and yes, before you ask, the sex is _incandescent_." He positively _preens_ at this, and my smile turns into a gentle laugh. "But I need to get back to my floor. You can sleep in late here, I can't. I need to get back to my own floor so I won't miss whatever important bits of advice Anshar has to share with me before launch."_

"_Just a few more minutes," he wheedles. "Stay?"_

_"I want too-" I say, and it's the truth. There's nothing in Panem I want more at this moment then to lie back down with Thames, wake up with him in a few hours and jokingly harass him about his morning breath. A last show of domestic tranquility before we are both plunged into a whirlpool of chaos that only one of us will emerge from._

_"But you can't," he finishes for me, shoulders slumping. Actually, his whole body seems to droop, as if he's a flower that's been deprived of both nutrients and water. Well. A flower that's very good at sex and likes making jokes about spearheads._

_"Hey," I reach out, slide a hand over his bare shoulder. Rub a few soothing circles there before sliding out from under the sheets. "Hey, you'll see me in less than eight, nine hours, okay?" The glowing numbers on the clock display read 2:53, and Anshar told me that the launch is at 12:00 sharp. "Time'll fly by. We'll be together again before you know it."_

_Time _will_ fly by. It will go by too fast, and one of us will be dead before the other is ready for it. I wet my lips at the thought, my mouth suddenly gone dry. Swallowing, I head for the door._

_"Aegis." _

_I turn, one hand on the doorframe. Thames slips out from underneath the covers and steps forward, beautiful and unashamed. His full mouth quirks up at the corner, and he tilts his head up expectantly. Huffing out a fond breath, I take the bait and press my lips to his, but keep the kiss short, briefly biting at his bottom lip before pulling away. "Soon, okay?"_

_He draws in a slightly uneven breath, before reluctantly taking a step back, nodding. "Soon," he confirms, and his voice is laced with a promise and invitation. A smile flickers across his mouth. "Soon."_

"Sneaking back from your last night with loverboy?" A voice asks. I freeze, jarred harshly out of memory, one foot out of the elevator. Yes, I'd gone back with Thames to his floor after the interviews, but we'd spent the night tangled together, his head resting against my chest, breaths evening out until they matched mine. We hadn't done anything besides that- he'd fallen asleep against me before things could escalate, and I had no objection. The interviews had taken their toll on him- minutes of scrutiny under thousands of eyes- under every eye in Panem. And as self-conscious as Thames is, it did him no good. Not everything about our budding relationship has to do with sex, although it _certainly_ started that way.

"You won't be able to… _express_ yourself in the Arena," my Stylist continues. "One last night of passion before-"

"Shut up." I curl my fingers into fists, and the gorgon begins to tug on its leash. "It's not like that." _Don't say another word. _

"Isn't it?" It's still too dark to see anything clearly, and I'm not accustomed to the lack of lighting for my eyes to swiftly adjust. I fully step out of the elevator. My hand finds the light switch, and I flick it on, setting my jaw against the sight of my Stylist. Her round face is red with a blood-blush, and there's a bottle on the table beside the couch that she's sitting on.

"You don't know the half of it." My voice sounds tight, strained, even to my own ears. Another tug on the metaphorical leash. A monster, straining against its bonds. I yank it back. Add another tether.

"You're not doin' anyone favors." She takes another swig from the bottle. "What with pairing up with that pretty boy from 1 'n all."

"You're a mean drunk," I say, arching an eyebrow as the doors slide shut behind me. "Don't you have anything better to do with your time?" _Stay calm. If I keep my composure, the gorgon is less likely to break loose and destroy this whole damn room._

"Like what, dress you up and make you pretty?" She sneers, lips curling. "I don't think so."

"Like you could find two fabrics that go together even if they were right in front of your nose," I retort. _Stop. _I need to stop, to get myself under control before something bad happens. _Deep breaths._

They do nothing.

"Car'ful, 'Arlow," she says, and her voice is definitely slurred now.

I clench my teeth together so hard my jaw aches, command myself into movement. Keep my head high as I stride past her couch. "Fuck you." It's an effort not to turn around and wrap my hands around her throat, _squeeze_ until the life leaves her eyes, make her _pay_ for what she's said. For what she's implied about him.

"I think that would be cheating, dearie," she says smugly. "Oh, wait. You're doin' that 'lready, so would it matt-"

How she knows about Leo doesn't matter. How she knows what's happened between us.

My vision goes red, and I _move_. Muscles tightening, bunching up before I'm launching myself across the space between us. Pinning her to the floor. "Watch your tongue." My fingers clench around her throat without my telling them too. There's a faint buzzing, somewhere in the back of my mind. "Watch it, or I might rip it straight out of your mouth."

o0o

**Mic Klaus (14) District 11 Tribute**

I hadn't wanted to get out of bed this morning. Granted, I haven't wanted to get out of my bed ever since I reached the Capitol, but today is different. A heavy blanket of dread has seemed to settle the whole floor, a dragging sense of finality that weighs on us wherever we go. _Today is the day of the Bloodbath,_ the silence seems to remind us. _Today is the day that you will die. _

But I won't die. I won't die, I won't, _I won't._ I refuse to let myself believe it. I wasn't one of the ones who was selected to make the supply run at the Cornucopia. All I have to do is turn tail and sprint for cover, and I'm good. I'll meet up with the rest of the alliance and we'll be out of there faster than the blink of an eye. _I won't die. I refuse._ I will not accept my fate as another lifeless corpse that will be lifted out of the Arena via hovercraft. And certainly not at the very beginning of these Games. _I know how to scavenge. I bet those Careers don't know the first thing about survival. _I can live off the Arena- I know exactly what plants do what- which are edible, which will kill you as soon as they reach your digestive system. I know what will heal you and what is sure to speed up the process of infection. _I will survive. I will not die today._ _I refuse. _

Across the table, Nat is unusually somber, as if the same thoughts that are wearing a track in my mind are doing the same in hers. She pokes at a piece of the kiwi in front of her, frowning meditatively at it.

"I don't like this, Mic." She's still staring at the fruit as she says it. "I don't like what we're going into."

"None of us do," I answer. "You'd have to be crazy to even want to do something like this. I don't know how the Careers do it."

A humorless laugh emerges from her throat, sharp. Sharp like the edge of a sword, or the tip of an arrow. "How do you think? They've been brainwashed into thinking that this is all some honor, some huge achievement that will bring glory to them and their families. It's just a game, to them."

"Well," I catch a bitter edge to the word and don't try to dull it as I give her a sarcastic smile. "These are called the Hunger _Games_, after all."

She lets out another mirthless laugh at that. Stabs her kiwi, impaling it on the sharp tines of her fork and raises it to her mouth. Chews, slowly. Swallows. She blinks, hard, once or twice, scrunching up her face before her features smooth back out. "It's hard to feature, I guess." She doesn't meet my eyes, instead spearing another piece of fruit, juices sliding down her fork like blood down the blade of a sword. "That we might have to kill other people. Other _children_."

"Yeah," is all I can think to say. There aren't many words that we can exchange on a day like this that are meaningful. Not really. _Good luck_, _I hope you don't die_, _see you in hell,_ are all liable options, but none of them would mean much. I highly doubt the latter would be appreciated, either.

But her words stick with me, as I eat another forkful of eggs. _Kill other people. Other children._ I don't know if I have the strength to do that. For all the vengeful thoughts I've had over the years, all the times I've immaturely wished someone would just keel over dead, or imagined wrapping my hands around another person's throat and _squeezing_ and never letting go… I don't know if I could ever do it. Not when I'd be staring into their eyes, seeing their face. I couldn't watch the life drain out of them and walk away, knowing that _I'd_ done that. _I'd _caused their life to end. Careers kill like that all the time. To me, though, it seems like there's some sort of sick, fucked up intimacy to a kill like that. To watch them die, to be face to face with them as they draw their last breath.

There used to be a wall of graffiti, deep in the slums of District 11, with the words '_death is a permanent end to a temporary problem'_ scrawled across it in massive yellow letters. All around it, there was blue sky and white clouds, skillfully done by a caring hand. _A permanent end to a temporary problem._ The problem that 23 of us are faced with now is anything _but_ temporary. We cannot simply _blink_ and wake up back in our respective beds. That's not the way this world works. _An inevitable end to a permanent problem, more like._

Sometimes, during the Games, death would be a leiency. One Games, an unfortunate Tribute was bitten by some breed of a poisonous snake and didn't stop screaming for days. He just lay there, writhing in agony and begging for mercy from a God who did not save him. When death claimed him three days later, we could have sworn his last words were _thank you._ His screams still haunt my nightmares.

Other times, though. Other times, we would see someone on their knees before a Career, disarmed and beaten, begging for their life. Pleading with everything they had. Some made inefficacious attempts to offer an alliance, or information. Others would simply wail, beating their fists on the ground or pulling at their hair as they were held at swordpoint. _Please don't kill me, I'll give you anything!_ Another worthless attempt. What could they give? Either they'd be dead, or the person threatening to kill them would be, and only one of them would benefit in that scenario.

_There is no way out of this, _a voice buried in the back of my mind whispers. _Either kill or be killed. There is no alternative route._

Kill or be killed.

Such is the way of predator and prey, of the hunter or the hunted. The victim can only flee for so long until they meet their fate, and even then, it is either death by the axe or of some other cause. _It always ends in death._

Death, which is the one eternal thing in life. Immortality is a beautiful lie, and hell is the bitter truth. Reality. Death is the only rule of life, in the end. In the Panem, in the world, in the Arena.

_Would I rather meet my end here, or back in District 11? _It's inevitable, either way, and I was futile in my previous thoughts of how I might evade it.

_Welcome to the real world. The real world, where the only rule is death._

The only thing I can do is decide when to meet it.

o0o

**Thorne Raven (16) District 12 Tribute**

After breakfast, the only thing to do is wait. We're to be taken to the catacombs beneath the Arena via hovercraft at 11:15, and the launch is at 12:00. Sharp. Amber hasn't shown herself since last night, and Aveline is nowhere to be seen, having promptly vanished into her room after we'd eaten. She was shaking uncontrollably at breakfast, and it was all I could do not to reach across the table and steady her trembling hand beneath my own.

As the allotted time draws nearer, the steady silence of floor 12 becomes far less bearable. I want the comfortable chatter of the cafeteria of the training room, not this… chilling _stillness_ that freezes my blood dead where it flows through my veins. Running my hand over the bare skin of my arm, I feel goosebumps prickling against my fingertips for no apparent reason. My insides are squirming, in the way they do before I have a particularly big show coming up, or I'm about to perform a trick I haven't done in public before.

See, there's a kind of waiting that's like the gentle breezes kissing well-worn pavement, or sweeping through the leaves of trees in a forest. It's not _warm_, persay, but there's a sense of calm there. Of nature, of things expected. Then, there's the kind of waiting that feels as if a morningstar is swinging rampant in my stomach and my head has taken a thumping with a rather heavy piece of soaped wood. This kind of waiting is the latter. My hands begin to shake in a way that I can't control, and all I can do is shove my hands under my arms, and hope the feeling passes.

The hours tick by. I force air in and out of my lungs, each breath shakier than the last. The clock strikes 11:00.

Half an hour. It's a half-hour wait until I will be on my way to the Arena. _I want to get this over with. _The training, the interviews, the launch time… it is all part of the game the Capitol is playing with us. They want us high-strung, jittery and flighty so that it'll be that much more of a spectacle once the blood begins to flow.

Amber doesn't appear until exactly 11:14. Aveline's next to her, dressed in a simple shift that's almost identical to mine. My final dressing and preparations will be done in the catacombs under the Arena. Our Stylists, Patch and Niagara, are beside her. "Ready to go?" Amber asks. Her shoulders are slumped, and her hazel eyes are dull as she trudges towards the door that leads to the rooftop.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I mutter, and even though Amber shows no sign of hearing me, Aveline's lips twitch up into a beautiful, impossible smile. We reach the rooftop, and Amber almost visibly runs into a large gust of wind. She scowls, before hunching her shoulders and stalking out of the stairwell and onto the roof. Aveline and I trail after her, closely followed by Patch and Niagara. I shudder in the cool air- the sun is shining high above our heads, but drifting clouds are blocking its warmth from reaching us, and the frigid gusts chill my skin.

"Be thankful for the wind," Amber calls over her shoulder, as a hovercraft materializes out of thin air beside the roof and a ladder drops down. "This may be the last time you get to feel it in a long, long while."

Aveline and I exchange looks. What's she going on about? Does she know something about the Arena? I didn't think that Mentor's got inside sneak peeks on what the Arena was going to be, lest they train their Tributes for the exact landscape to give them a distinct advantage over others. Then again, I think I know a lot of things, and it turns out that I've just been _misinformed_.

"Get on," Amber tells us, placing her own hands on one of the ladder rungs. Aveline and I quickly follow suit, as do Patch and Niagara. Instantly, it's as if I'm frozen. Some sort of current holds me tight to the ladder, ensuring that I reach the carrier safely. Once I'm inside, I'm expecting someone to approach Aveline and me with a needle. Amber had mentioned being stuck with a rather large needle that was supposed to be her 'tracker' when she'd first gotten on the hovercraft. But no one comes. The current releases us, and a red-haired Avox boy comes to lead us to a large room, where games, an assortment of food, and other amenities have been laid out.

"The ride will be about half an hour," Patch gestures at the spread before us. "Make yourself comfortable. It's the best you'll be for a long time yet."

Aveline instantly moves towards a chair, collapsing down into it. She remains silent the whole ride to the Arena, the flicker of her eyelids the only movement she makes until the windows darkened. We must be nearing the Arena. We land, and Patch and I go back down the ladder. Aveline and Niagara will be deposited at another location, and Amber will be dropped back off at the Capitol. I assume she only came with us out of courtesy- she was as silent as Aveline on the way here. Patch leads the way, this time, and I follow him through a dark tunnel, lit by the occasional fluorescent orange or blue lightbulb flickering weakly overhead. We walk for what could be half a mile, maybe more, until Patch reaches a door at the end of a long hallway, gesturing for me to go inside. This is what the Capitol calls a Launch Room. Back in 12, we call it the Stockyard. The place where animals go before slaughter.

I open the door and step inside. Everything is brand-new. The make-up table, the closet, the chairs, all of it. I will be the first and only Tribute to use this Launch Room. The Arena's are preserved after the Games are over and become popular attractions for Capitol residents to visit. Rewatch the Games, tour the catacombs, reenact deaths, maybe even talk to a few Victors, if it's a special event.

Patch jerks his chin towards the bathroom. His dark eyes are sympathetic, but his voice is cold as he says, "Get yourself cleaned up. Fifteen minutes till launch."

o0o

**Scythe Tonium (17) District 9 Tribute**

The ride here via hovercraft had been short. Too short. I had expected it to take an hour, maybe two. It took half of one.

Once Sunset and I had been dropped off, she'd led me to a small room, with a metal plate at the far end of the room, a door that presumably leads to a bathroom, and a few chairs. I swallow hard.

"Okay?" Sunset asks softly. Her hair- or wig, I can never tell with these people- is dyed to fade from a blood-red into a soft golden color, and it matches her make-up today.

"No," I reply, just as quiet.

Tears glisten in Sunset's eyes. "Go shower, Scythe. We need to get your ready."

I nod, once, sharply. As much as I can manage without breaking down. I walk into the bathroom. Shower. Brush my teeth. Sunset comes in when I'm done, unaffected by my nakedness, and stands behind me, braids my hair back behind my ears, keeping it loose. Her movements are jerky, almost robotic, and I try to remember how many years he's been doing this. Ten? Twelve? The number eludes me. When Sunset is done with my hair, she helps me into my outfit. It's tight and black, with strange lines of hard material done in patterns down my chest and the front of my legs.

"Can you move?" She asks, and her voice briefly catches on the last word. I raise my arms over my head experimentally. Roll my shoulders. Bring my knee up to my chest. The suit is surprisingly flexible and does nothing to hinder my movement. I nod, and Sunset lets out a relieved huff. Removing my crystal moon necklace from her pocket, she gestures with one hand for me to turn around. I do so, and she clasps it around my neck.

"There's a button on the back, just below your neck. It will trigger a helmet with a visor." Sunset's voice cracks again, and I bite my own lip to keep from saying something stupid or sentimental. _There is no time for things like that. _I reach back. Sure enough, there's a small button, right at my nape, above the top bump of my spine. I press it, and the helmet unfurls around my head, the dark faceplate snapping down.

I look to Sunset in confusion. I doubt she can see my expression through the visor. "What's this for?"

"I don't know," Sunset admits, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "I was given this late last night, as well as this." She holds out a remote. "Stylists usually don't get a say in what their Tribute wears into the Arena besides make-up and where their token is worn. The outfit is uniform for all Tributes. But it seems as if there was an exception." She nods to the remote. "Press it."

I do so, and my suit suddenly lets out a slight _hum. _ I stumble back, and Sunset steadies me with a slender hand on my back. My outfit is now emanating a faint, dark glow, and the lines of strange material I had noticed earlier are lit up.

"What…?"

"I can only assume that it's a form of identification," Sunset says. She has one more thing in his hands- a circular object with a hole in the middle, almost like one of the CDs I saw in a window of a shop in the wealthier part of 9. "You weren't injected with a tracker because this is it." She attaches the disc to a hook on the back of my suit. "I don't know anything about it beyond that."

Nervousness seeps into terror as he steps back, and motions for me to follow him out of the bathroom. Over hidden speakers embedded in the ceiling, a pleasant female voice announces that it is time for launch. There's a circular plate on the far side of the room. Sunset nods towards it.

"I-"

"Yeah." She takes one of my hands and enfolds it in both of hers. "I know you've been staying strong this whole time, Scythe, and that means something. You'll be alright in there. Someone like you won't have a problem up there. You'll be back out before you know it." Her voice is gentle, and she leads me forward like one would guide a skittish horse. I keep pace with her on suddenly shaking legs until I'm standing on the plate.

"Really?" I rasp.

"Really." Sunset squeezes my hand. "Good luck, Scythe Tonium." And then, just like that, a glass cylinder is lowering around me, and Sunset is forced to let go of my hand. She gives me a watery smile through the glass, raising a hand in a farewell. _A goodbye._ Not a farewell. _She said I will be in and out in no time. I have to believe her. _

The cylinder begins to rise.

I start to count the seconds.

_One. _

Ethan's advice on the ride here had been blunt, simple. Straight to the point. _Stay alive._ Initially, I had doubted him- surely, the key to winning wasn't so simple.

_Two._

But… it is though, now that I think about it. Because that was all Ethan had to do to win his Hunger Games.

_Three._

_Stay alive. _

_Four._

My breath catches in my throat, and I can begin to hear the faint roar of the crowd, live from the Capitol as I rise.

_Five._

The noise steadily gets louder. Louder. Screaming and yelling and cheering, thirsty for blood.

_Six._

The voice of Tiberius Hearthstone booms somewhere above me, announcing other Tributes as they rise. _Aegis Harlow. Aveline Wren. _

_Seven._

Cold sweat begins to bead on my forehead. I clasp my hands tightly in front of my stomach, but my fingers are restless, twitching uncontrollably. I clench my hands into fists until my nails dig into my palm. I barely register the pain.

_Eight._

The only thing that I'm really aware of is the pounding of my heart against my ribcage, thrashing like a butterfly pinned under the claw of a massive wolf.

_Nine._

The pedestal _chinks_ into place. I am standing in a huge circle of 23 other Tributes, all lit up and glowing like lanterns on a dark night.

I am in the Arena.

I am in the Hunger Games.

The clock starts ticking down.

o0o

**Athena Shier (18) District 2 Tribute**

_Fifty-nine._

My teeth sink into my lip, and I taste the metallic tang of blood. I can't halt the ticking of the timer. Everything hinges on my actions in the next minutes. Once done, it can never be reversed. I'm either dead or alive. One of the canons that will go off at the end of the hour will be for me, or it won't.

_Fifty-eight._

I couldn't think straight this morning. I put my ring on the wrong finger and panicked when I couldn't find it. Today could be the difference between walking away from the Cornucopia with a bow in and a shallow grave back in 2, with Harmony and Bloom crying over my corpse. My hands spread like pale starfish against the scaled material of my suit, a gray glow shining through the gaps between my fingers.

_Fifty-seven._

In the ten hours I'd been in bed last night, I must have woken up six or seven times. Not for that long each time, just a few minutes, but enough to break my sleep into unrefreshing chunks. With every disturbance, there is a new nightmare. I get stabbed in the chest with a knife, repeatedly, and I remain conscious and _alive_ throughout the whole thing. The Careers turn on me for no apparent reason and Aegis snaps my neck. I'm being eaten alive by little tiny rodents. I'm being burned at a stake. Then, my bedroom was light and my mind was racing faster than a cheetah can run like it's stuck on fast-forward and the volume is jammed right up to the max.

_Fifty-six._

I want to douse my brain in ice water, to chill the whole thing right out and keep it from overheating and combusting on the spot, but I can't. My heart is racing, adrenaline pumping through my veins.

_Fifty-five._

_Stop. _Thinking about what _might_ happen will do nothing for me. I can't bring back all the bad feelings I've had for the last 24 hours. There is no time for distraction. Not here. Especially not now. _What's around me? Look at the Arena, Athena. Awareness is the first thing that separates a good Tribute from a dead one._

I push all thoughts of the clock out of my mind. Thinking about time will do me about as much good as trying to stab someone with a wet noodle. _What's around me? Come on, Athena, think!_

From where I'm standing, most of the Arena seems to consist of a flat, dark platform with glowing blue, cyan, or white ribbons of light covering it in a vast latticework. There are city spires in the distance, also lit up. _A digital frontier._ That's what this place is. _We're in the world of a computer. _Alright. Computer world Arena. _Weapons. _I direct my focus towards the Cornucopia.

_A bow_. There's a bow about 100 yards in front of me. Right there, practically begging me to pick it up and _shoot._ _That's my weapon. _It's propped up against what might be a tent as well as a collection of what looks to be five spears. Thames stands beside me, the golden hue of his suit casting a circle of light on the ground below him. Sure enough, his gaze is set on the bundle beside the bow.

Arena evaluation, check. Weapons, check. Now… _Who's around you? _I ask myself. _Where are your allies? Where are the threats?_

To my left, Scythe Tonium stands stock still. Her helmet is away from her face- perhaps she realized that it will only hinder her vision and peripherals. It seems that many of the Tributes have had the same thought. _The visors do a good job of hiding out facial features. _The only way to distinguish who is who will be the colors on our suits. _I have to memorize this as soon as possible. _Scythe is in black, and it almost looks as if she's not glowing at all. I'm a dark, slate gray, and to my right, Thames is a brilliant gold. A quick scan of the visible part of the circle reveals that Aegis is in blood red, and Halliday, standing only a few Tributes away from Thames, is a striking green that brings out her eyes.

A few pedestals over, Sash shifts his weight, hopping from foot to foot on the platform. He's a gorgeous purple color, and his eyes are set on another bow, leaning against a pack. The weapon and supplies are right up against the Cornucopia, and he rises up on the balls of his feet, ready to spring at a moment's notice.

Halliday has her emerald gaze set firmly on something towards the other side of the horn- which is made of a solid black material, patterned with the same glowing lines as our suits. It's a longer dash for whatever weapon she has her eye on, but I've seen her flit through the agility course that rings the Training Center at the speed of sound. If anyone can get there, it's her.

I spare a brief moment to wonder if Harmony and the rest of my family are watching me live at home. I bet they are. Harmony would be perched on the arm of the couch, chewing on her nails, while my parents would be sitting on the floor, clasping hands. Bloom is almost certainly watching me, through the screens in the Capitol, alongside Anshar. She's probably clenching her fists and trying to give me last minute advice through the screen.

I almost smile as I imagine the sight- Bloom yelling at a screen, while Anshar tries to deal with the Sponsors who have already lined up for Aegis and I, while diverting their attention from his fellow Mentor.

_What would Bloom tell me now?_ Well, for starters, she'd tell me to stop looking so much like a rabbit and more like a Career. _Chin up, shoulders back, eyes on the prize. You're not some loser from District 12, you're a trained Career from 2. Act like it._ Tough love is very much Bloom's thing- she'll rarely dole out praise, which makes it all the sweeter when she congratulates me on making a shot or finishing a form.

But the help Bloom will be able to give me is not under her control. She's not the one in charge of handling that.

All my hope, for now, rests on the shoulders of some unstable Victor from last year, with violet eyes and a trembling hand.

The clock continues to count down. Each tick sounds like a laugh.

_Forty-seven._

_Forty-six._

_Forty-five._

o0o

**Asher Foster (17) District 5 Tribute**

Silence settles over the circle of Tributes like weighted blanket as the clock hits _forty-five. _The live feed from the Capitol has been cut, and theonly noise is that of my beating heart and steady breathing.

_Forty-four. _

There's a swirling black vortex that's waiting out there. Swirling just beyond human sight, waiting to suck 23 of us into its depths. I'm going to do everything I possibly can to ensure that it's not me. _Granted, I only have a few more years to live, but I'd rather not die at the hands of some spoiled brat from 1. _My nostrils flare as I meet Thames' gaze from across the circle. His words echo around in my head. _You are nothing more than a coward._

_Nothing more than a coward._

Coward indeed. I'll show him who the real coward is, once one of my knives is buried in his throat.

_Forty-three._

The only person who might be able to help him is that Athena girl from 2, and I know that I'll be able to get my hands on a weapon- any weapon- faster than she can claim that bow that she's eyeing up. Ambrose had mentioned something, once, when she'd come to my room on the day of the private sessions, about a bow. That she might try some shooting. It had taken every ounce of self-restraint not to laugh at her. The girl's arms are noodles. I'd be surprised if she could draw a fifteen-pounder.

_Forty-two. _

Speaking of Ambrose… I spot her halfway across the circle. Or, a person who might be Ambrose. Their visor is down, obscuring their facial features from view. _Smart, but a risky move. _I had considered leaving the helmet on for the Bloodbath- with the way Aegis Harlow is glaring at me from across the circle of Tributes, I might be his first target once he gets his hands on a weapon- but it blindsided me to anyone coming up beside me, and I can't let my guard down at any time in this Arena. Aegis narrows his eyes at me. _Ha. As if he could fight me. _While the Careers might be trained, I have been raised among wolves, and certainly know how to fight like one.

Aegis tilts his head to the side. His whole posture seems to ask, _think you can take me, pup?_

A slow smile spreads across my face. _Anytime, District 2. _

He smirks back at me, and there's darkness at the edges of his smile. Shadows that linger in the inky blue of his eyes.

The flashing numbers above the Cornucopia read _thirty-five._

I set my jaw. _There's a bandolier of knives right in front of me. If I can get to those, I'll do just fine._

All thought eddies out of my head, drains away and leaves my mind blessedly blank, white as a fresh page in my sketchbook.

And in that space, I begin to plan. Imagine myself launching off the pedestal the moment that timer reaches zero. Sprinting across the ground, grabbing up the knives and sending the first one straight into Aegis Harlow's back. The next through Thames Venturi's throat.

_You are nothing more than a coward._

There are packs, loaded up with supplies, scattered all around the Cornucopia. Surely, I can get one and be back out of the fray in no time. All it will take is five extra seconds to down two of the most dangerous Tributes in the Arena. The girl from 2 is not to be underestimated either- I've seen what she can do with a bow. But judging by her posture and the way she's looking around like someone's going to jump on her and slit her throat at any given moment, I can't imagine her aim's going to be all that on target.

_I can't assume that, though, even if overestimating your opponent isn't as bad as underestimating them. _At least, if I overestimate her, I won't be the one paying for it. The girl from 1- the one who Jordan Wheaton implied he was in love with- is on the other side of the circle. She's a real threat, with those knives of hers, but she prefers to fight all up close and personal, not throw. Besides, from this distance, you would have to be superhuman to make a kill shot with a dagger, whether it was meant for throwing or not.

Sash, though… the rockstar is an archer. A good one. He never missed a target, from the little I've seen of him. And he's used to pressure- he's been Rollag Stone's bassist for what, three years now? Performing can't be easy. He's standing a few pedestals down, and sure enough, his shoulders are rising and falling at an even pace, and his weight is evenly distributed. He's ready for anything. _He's the reason why I have to be so fast about this. _If I linger for too long, I'll be shot down before I can blink. After that… _episode_ on the very first day, they've surely marked me as a target.

Bitterness rushes through me for a brief moment as I survey Sash. _They chose him for an ally and not me?_ I'm not terrible with a bow, and I earned a 9 in training, good as any of them. _They're probably too proud to admit they fucked up._ My lip curls. _Just like every do-gooder back home on the streets of 5, just like every other white dog dressed up as a Peacekeeper. Fuck them all. I'll show them._

The clock reaches the halfway point. And as the number _thirty_ flashes on the screen, the air around the Cornucopia seems to ripple.

Ripple, and fade entirely, a curtain being swept away in a great reveal to display the grand surprise underneath.

Someone to my left screams.

I thought I'd been ready for this. That there wasn't anything left in Panem that could hurt me or bring me down.

But for all that… my heart stops cold in my chest. Screeches to a grating halt the sight of a massive, metallic wolf, come out of nowhere with eyes lit red, crouched directly in front of the mouth of the Cornucopia, teeth bared and ready for blood.

o0o

**Lancia Carrera (13) District 6 Tribute**

There's a dog. There's a gargantuan, metal dog, with claws honed into razor-sharp points and fangs bared in a snarl, hunkered down in front of the Cornucopia. _Shit. _Shit_, this is bad. Really, really bad. _I don't want to take my eyes off it to look around to see who's nearest to me, afraid that it will spring at me and rip my face off the moment I look away. _The landmines will keep it away, though, won't they?_ There are mines beneath the circle of raised platforms that we're standing on- sensitive enough that they'll be set off by the bounce of a wooden ball. A dog of that size would trigger them for sure. But I'm not sure that those mines will do any damage to it whatsoever- the armored plating gleams in the harsh blue light that emanates from the patterns and lines that cover almost every available surface. _Besides, how did it even get there without triggering them?_ It just… appeared. Out of thin air. _Does it have some sort of built-in cloaking device? _

Each Hunger Games, as I recall, has had a mutt. Usually more than one, but there's always one that stands out. This must be ours, although _mutt_ isn't necessarily the word I would use to describe this thing. It's large enough to come up to a grown man's waist, maybe higher.

_It couldn't have gotten in here unnoticed. One of the Gamemakers must have put it there. _Which means it has to have a cloaking device of some sort. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit._

Every muscle in my body feels tight, ready for action, and I can't even take a step. My body is screaming at me to sprint in the opposite direction- to get away from this _thing,_ whatever it is, to spend this restless energy that's been building up ever since I reached this stupidly beautiful place. Even my face feels tight. Smiling isn't going to be an option any time soon.

_Run,_ my body tells me. _Run, run, run, it's what you always do, it's what you're good at. Run away. Run, run run._ But I can't run away. Not now. I'm one of the ones who has been chosen to make the dive for supplies at the beginning of these god-forsaken Games, and the Bloodbath is mere seconds away. _I can't drop the ball now. I have to go through with this. I'll be letting my whole alliance down if I don't. I'll be letting _myself_ down. _ Scythe is ready to run- I can see it in her posture, the way she holds herself as she watches the clock intently. She's not going to be running away. I can't run away either. I can't leave Scythe on her own. She's the only one of our alliance on the far side of the Cornucopia- the rest of us are almost all bunched together, right at the mouth of the horn.

_I can't back down._ I didn't back down during the interviews, I can't do so now. I was built to run- if they want to kill me, they have to catch me, and I'm very, very hard to catch. Years of fleeing from that _witch_, Magda, have taught me that. _I _won't_ back down._ I have to go through with what I promised the rest of my allies I would do. Even if it gets me killed, maybe I can get the supplies to one of them and then lead the dog away from the Cornucopia. _That threat needs to be gone. It needs to be gone, and it will be if it's the last thing I do with my life._ The idea of dying has always been a terrifying one. If you're not scared of it, you're not human. But fear is not the same as acceptance.

All I've been doing, ever since the Reapings, is denying what's obviously going to happen. I've been running from death, and all that's turned out to be was a huge fucking waste of energy. A huge waste of mind space that I could have used for planning, for developing a strategy. Now, I've finally come to my senses, and it seems as if everything's in high definition. Vibrant color, with everything turned up to the max. _Hopefully, not too late._

The clock is still ticking.

_Twenty-two._

_Twenty-one._

_Twenty. _

The neon lights cast a harsh glow over the face of the horn.

_Nineteen._

_Eighteen._

_Seventeen._

I'm through with this. I'm finished running from my fate. What I need will never come, and no matter how hard I search for it, it will remain stubbornly hidden. I wasn't born for great things. Wasn't born to find my place in the sun. I can still try, every day, hunt and forage and hide, work for what I want, what I _need_, but in the end, there will be no paths to success that will allow me to tread them. Not from here. I always thought that I could dream my out- that all I had to do was find a version of myself who only sees the opportunities and ignores the noise. A version of myself who can't _hear_ the distractions, the people who say 'no'. I convinced myself that they said no because they didn't believe in themselves, so there was no way that they could ever believe in me.

_Fifteen. _

My life has been built on lies. Lies forced my parents apart, lies brought the _witch_ and my father together. Lies have been what I've relied on to cover my escape, and lies were what I told when I rebelled against the Capitol last night.

_Fourteen._

I'm _done._ Take away the well-mean words, the illusions of grandeur, the reassurances that don't help, and the smiles that aren't real. Call it despair, if you want. I can't even identify what I'm feeling anymore. Call it despair, but when it comes right down to it, something fake hurts more than anything.

_Thirteen._

It's time for me to live in the real world.

_Twelve._

_Eleven. _

_Ten._

o0o

**Killian Doppelmen (15) District 6 Tribute**

Ten seconds left. Ten seconds until the world explodes in fire and brimstone. Ten seconds, until the gates to hell burst open and the devil and all his lackeys come rushing out. Grim satisfaction and a whisper of contempt tug at the corner of my mouth. _The gates of hell will be thrown open, and I will be the one leading the charge. _

The wolf in front of the Cornucopia doesn't faze me. If the Gamemakers want this Hunger Games to be quick, they wouldn't send a mutt to do the killing for them. Why not just make the Arena the size of the circle we're all standing in? Arm every Tribute and hand us some sort of ultimatum that would force us to kill each other within the first ten minutes of the Games? The possibilities are endless. Why choose this way to kill us? No one likes mutt deaths, it's common knowledge, ever since the 15th Games, where Capitol citizens almost went into revolt because of the lack of Tribute-inflicted deaths in the Games. The machine is here to add to the fear factor. Nothing more. Nothing less.

The tension that has wrapped dark, grasping fingers around us is thick enough to cut with a knife. It ties knots in my stomach, and despite my determination to _not cry, _tears are welling in the corners of my eyes. _It's not me who's reacting to this situation._ Those two _weaklings_ who share my body, Phoenix and Arianna, are thrashing somewhere in the corner of my mind, locked behind unshatterable iron bars and an unbreakable lock. _And you'll stay there, for as long as I like. _It's been _so long_ since I've felt the wind on my face or the heat of the sun on my skin. I have no plans on waiting this long again.

It would certainly be nice to get a kill off here, before making for the shelter of the strange, digitalized trees on the opposite side of the Cornucopia. Behind me, city spires loom in the distance, and I have no intention of finding out what dangers the Gamemakers have laid out in store for us there. The run there will force me into a sprint that will last for who knows how long. Distance in places like these can be deceiving. I don't do well running distance- but this short, burst of speed that will carry me to where I need to go… that is what I am built for. But in order to get to the forest, I will have to run straight through the carnage itself.

My breath hisses out from between my gritted teeth. There, in the very center of the Bloodbath, is where the chance of my death reaches nearly unbeatable odds. I earned an 8 in training- and that makes me a potential target. None of the Careers have looked my way yet, but if they see me bee-lining for what they must surely think of as _their_ stash, I will be put down.

But that will not happen.

I am not afraid.

The worst thing one can be is a coward. The coward will sacrifice anything to save themselves from physical pain- even at the price of emotional death. To keep themselves from bodily harm, they will become a monster.

I will not be afraid.

_Five._

It's a forty-yard dash to the mouth of the Cornucopia. Enough weapons are scattered in and around the horn of plenty almost guarantee my chances of being able to snatch up a weapon on the run. All it will take is a quick slash across the throat, a stab in the back, a blade sunk into a vulnerable chest. _I will not be afraid._

_Four. _

There will be no going back when the countdown is finished. Either I turn tail and run, or I risk everything for cover and a kill. Supplies are mandatory at this point- if I leave with nothing, I will have nothing when the shadows poised on the edge of the Arena begin to close in. I am the one who arranges the blocks, and the structures I build will not come tumbling down anytime soon. _I will not be afraid._

_Three._

I will be able to do nothing against starvation, or dehydration, or any natural cause that poses a threat to my life. If I get my hands on a pack, pick up a kill, then the Capitol will have their eyes on me. The initial chaos will provide enough cover for a sneaky blade between the ribs. No one has to know until my knife is pressed against their throat, and I am the one who will be going home. _I will not be afraid._

_Two._

I set my eyes on a pack- a few knives are sheathed in its pockets, easy to draw, and wield at a moment's notice. The muscles in my legs tighten, and I rise up on the balls of my feet, ready to run. _I will not be afraid. I do not yield._

_One._

The clock hits zero. Tiberius Heathstone's voice booms out around us.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the 26th annual Hunger Games _begin!"_

o0o

**Athena Shier (18) District 2 Tribute**

I'm moving before I know that my legs are in motion. Launching myself off my pedestal and making a bee-line towards the horn. _Forty yards._ That's all there is between me and the bow. _Thirty._ I don't know where Thames is, but I'm guessing he's beside me, sprinting for the spear. _Twenty._ _Ten._ I dive for the weapon.

I never get there. An unknown force slams into me and knocks me sideways. I can hear a low grunt off to my right and can only guess that it's Thames, intercepted as well. My unknown assailant and I tumble and roll across the ground, them scrambling for purchase, me searching for leverage to get them off me, off me, _off me._ I thrust my elbow up, and it hits something soft but firm, and the someone above me lets out a wheeze. Tucking my legs up to my chest as best I can, I thrust _up_ and the pink figure rolls off, back on their feet immediately. I rise as well, realizing that it's the young girl from 6. Her brown eyes are wide with terror, but she holds her ground, between me and the bow.

"Watch yourself," I warn her. Lancia's eyes narrow at that.

"Back at you," she snaps. "You want that weapon, you have to go through me."

I heave a sigh. Even with the chaos raging around us, I don't want to hurt this girl. She'd shown spirit during the interviews. She also mentioned something about a father, an abusive mother- stepmother?- and a friend who needed her help.

"I don't want to hurt you," I start.

"You're a Career, aren't you?" Lancia squares her shoulders. "Deal with it. It's what you're trained to do, isn't it? Hurt people? Kill them?"

The words hit their intended mark. They sting, and I want nothing more than to deny them, even though I know they're true.

"You're young," I try again. "I don't want-"

"Oh, so you don't want the death of a 13-year-old girl weighing on your consciousness, is that it?" Lancia rolls her eyes. It would almost be funny, in a dark morbid way, if it wasn't for the howl of agony somewhere behind me and to the left. "Very kind of you. Listen here-"

I'll never know what she was going to say. A blur of orange knocks her off her feet before the rest of the words can leave her mouth. I catch a glimpse of fiery hair as Lancia goes down. _The Wolfchild._

"I'm listening…" Another voice says right by my ear, and I wheel around, fists up, to see Thames standing next to me. There's a trail of blood running down one side of his mouth, and he has a scratch on a cheek, but other than that, he seems unharmed. "Come on." He starts back towards the Cornucopia. "You're on defense, we need to get you a weapon."

We make it to the Cornucopia together, me grabbing up the bow and strapping the quiver across my back, him snatching the spear. He whirls towards me just as I turn towards him. His spear is raised, wicked tip glinting against the lights of his suit. A brief flood of panic washes through me- we're allies, he wouldn't go rogue. Not now, after he'd guarded my back during the short, but deadly ten-yard spring here. Not when Aegis is running towards us, sword in hand, yelling something I can't quite make out. Still, Thames' arm is back, and his focus is somewhere over my left shoulder.

"_Duck,"_ he bites out, and it's so different from his usual seductive rumble that I drop to the ground before I have time to really think about what I'm doing. His weapon goes sailing over my head, and I glance back just in time to see the young boy from 3 go sprawling, Thames' spear protruding from his chest. Thames' chest is rising and falling fast, but he shows no signs of shock as he picks up another spear. "Go around towards Halliday," he barks at me, no sign of the joking, sarcastic tone he'd used just seconds earlier. "Aegis and I will take this side."

"What about Sa-"

"Sash is fine." Aegis reaches us, panting slightly. His dark eyes are halfway wild, and his voice is low, almost a growl. "Go help Halliday."

"But-"

"Don't argue," Thames snaps. He doesn't stick around to see if I do as I've been told. He and Aegis dive right back into the fray, steel flashing various colors in the glow from Tribute's lightsuits as Aegis dives on top of Sierra Encantada from 10. I watch for a moment longer, tracking the Thames as he pursues Harold Lachin from 3. I don't think- just act. I load an arrow into my bow and draw the string. It's second nature as I focus in on my target and let the arrow fly. Harold lets out a shrill scream as the arrow goes clean through his shoulder, and then Thames is there, spear driving through his chest.

Bile rises in my throat, but I turn away from them and rush towards the other side of the black horn. There, I find Halliday and Sash. Halliday's green eyes are ferocious, and one of her long white knives is dripping blood. I raise an eyebrow in a wordless question.

"Got away," Sash says for her. "She got him in the leg pretty good though, 12 won't be going far."

"Aveline or Thorne?"

"Thorne," Halliday breathes. She cuts a glance towards Sash. "We need to get you a weapon."

"There." Sash points. I risk a glance in that direction, and see the girl from 9 hightailing her way out of the fray, a pack on her back, quiver at her hip and a bow clutched in her hand. _Those weapons belong to Sash. _The only other bow is in my hands, my first arrow still embedded fletching-deep in the shoulder of the young boy from 3, who lies dead with one of Thames' spears through his heart.

"_Athena!" _This time it's Thames, emerging from around the side of the Cornucopia, his spear, still bloody from his previous kill, flying through the air and embedding itself in the girl's pack. I'm the only one in range now. The girl looks back, dark hair wild around her face. My arrow goes straight through her throat. She's dead before she hits the ground, crumpling like a marionette with its strings cut. My first kill. I don't give it time to sink in. The one thought in my mind is to _secure the Cornucopia,_ a single track that plays over and over again. _Secure the Cornucopia_.

I refuse to look over at the limp body of the girl from 9 as I nock an arrow and fire a warning shot at the boy from 6. These are the Hunger Games, and I am a Career. I am a hunter, and hunters kill. I have to do whatever it takes to get out of here alive. If that means killing, then I must learn to stomach it.

We scatter again- Thames, Aegis, and Sash going one way, Halliday and I going the other. Halliday takes a defensive stance before the mouth of the Cornucopia as I duck inside. Take stock of what's inside.

Food rations. Fire starting materials. Weapons of all shapes and sizes. Bags and backpacks, simply begging to be claimed. I spot several more quivers, loaded full of arrows, but no more bows. _Those are ours,_ I realize with a rush of satisfaction. _We have those. The only two in the Arena. _Several containers are stashed in the very back of the horn, and as I near them, the distinct smell of gasoline hits my nose. _Why would they keep gasoline in the Cornucopia?_

I don't know how much time I spend inside the horn, stashing everything away, putting everything into easily accessible piles. This is something we could have done after the initial bloodshed, but something about sitting on top of the horn and shooting every moving target dead makes my gut turn over. So here I am. I keep my bow loaded, both it and the arrow tucked against the string emitting a faint gray glow.

When I duck out of the Cornucopia, the massive dog that I'd seen before the timer had counted down (a minute ago? An hour? I didn't know) is gone, and I know I have to look for it. _We can't lose track of such a major player. If we want to survive, we're going to have to keep tabs on that thing. _I scan the area. Left. No sign of it. Right. Still no metal dog.

"Where's the beast?" Thames reaches us, the golden tint of his outfit still shining brightly, despite the blood that now covers him. Aegis is right behind him, a wild light in his eyes, His sword is drenched in and dripping blood, but he makes no move to wipe it off. Sash rounds the right side of the Cornucopia a few moments later.

"Did you see the dog?" Aegis demands as soon as Sash is within earshot. The bassist shakes his head, shrugging apologetically.

"Nope. Sorry, I was a bit busy trying to not get my head taken off."

Aegis lets out a short bark of laughter at that, but the sound quickly dies. "Does anyone have any idea where it is?"

"I'm going to go look," I'm already moving as the words leave my mouth. "Stay here."

I slowly inch around the side of the horn, blocking out the screams. There's a body lying not five feet away from me, glowing a frighteningly familiar shade of pink, but I don't let myself look. I peek around the edge of the tail of the Cornucopia and spot the massive war machine.

Spot it, just in time to see the thing rip a screaming Elwood Liang clean in half, one of its massive claws still embedded in his lower stomach.

o0o

**Asher Foster (17) District 5 Tribute**

Lancia Carrera lets out a harsh gasp as I barrel into her. A grim smile works its way across my mouth as we roll across the never-ending plain of black and blue. _You never saw me coming, did you, 6?_ She's bucking and fighting beneath my weight, thrashing against my grip as I pin her to the ground.

"Stop struggling, District 6," I snap. "It'll only make things worse for you."

Once I had gotten over my initial shock at the hugeass metallic _wolf_ standing over the horn of plenty, I'd developed perhaps one of the fastest, riskiest action plans I've made in my entire life. The timer had hit zero, and everyone had burst into movement. Some towards the horn, some away from it. I took a rather indirect route to the horn, keeping low and trying to stay behind Athena Shier for cover.

It hadn't done me much good, though, in retrospect, because the dog hadn't even moved. All it had done was stand there and watch us with those red, unnerving eyes, ears swiveling from side to side as Tributes screamed in agony nearby. _Well. Since that's not a problem anymore._

Lancia squirms a foot free and slams her leg into my side. My breath leaves me in a _whoosh_. She's up in a flash and running for the horn, swinging the nearest pack over her shoulder.

_Not so fast._ I run after her. _You're already dead meat. _

It isn't hard to catch her again. She's smart- I'll give her that, zigging and zagging to prevent me from leaping at her as I did with my initial takedown. But she's slowing, weighed down by the pack she's picked up, and whatever's in it. _I'm going to need whatever's there._ Weapons, food, survival supplies… I'll take anything I can get. The bag's lit up the same magenta color as her suit. _Will it change colors when I take it from her dead body, or will it stay the same?_

I shove the question from my mind. The only that matters right now is to take Lancia down. I'm wasting precious seconds chasing after her, but the pros, if I get this kill, outweigh the cons. If I kill her, the Capitol will be watching me- they always keep a closer eye on those who get the kills. Usually, it's the Careers who take down most everyone at the Bloodbath, but fuck me if I let them get all the glory.

_You are nothing more than a coward._

I grit my teeth, push more speed into my legs, thigh muscles burning. But I'm gaining on her, and _there._ Her steps slow- falter slightly, as she bends down to pick up the bandolier of knives I'd set my eye on at the very beginning. _One for Thames. One for Aegis. One for every god-damn Career in these Games. _

I pounce.

We collide, and the breath is knocked from my lungs at the impact. Hers does as well, the air leaving her in a massive _whoosh_ that goes past my ear as I slam her into the side of the Cornucopia. She stumbles in my hold, thrashes like a hellbeast. I grip her shoulders fast, though, and wrench her towards me before throwing her back against the unyielding surface of the horn. The breath she'd managed to gather rushes out of her again. "Let me _go," _she snaps. Her knee comes up, aiming for my groin. I let go of one shoulder just long enough to get out of the way, and this time, clench my hand in her hair.

"Not likely, sweetheart," I snipe back, and her head makes a sickening _thump_ as it collides with the Cornucopia. She howls, and I drive my fist into her face, driving it back again. Again. Over and over and over. _This is wrong_, a voice screams in the back of my mind. _This is wrong, this isn't you! _But isn't it, though? This is who I am now.

Blood pours down Lancia's face and the side of the Cornucopia, muting the brilliant blue light. It drips from her nose, from multiple cuts on her lip, from her temple. Her head hangs limp in my hands. I can't tell if she's breathing or not, and the roar of blood is too loud in my ears for me to think straight, to check for a pulse.

I shake her. She doesn't respond, and when I step back, keeping my hold on her, she crumples towards me without a sound._ Dead?_

I shake her again, more violently than the last time, making sure to put extra pressure on her head. She lets out a little sound, nothing more than a weak whimper.

An incomprehensible sense of _something_ floods through my system. _Why don't you just _die_ already?_ Another strike against the Cornucopia will almost surely kill her, but I can't take any chances. I'm unarmed. All I have is myself and the Cornucopia.

Myself.

I shove her back against the side of the horn, slick with her blood, and force her head back via a yank on her hair that draws a pathetic whine out of her. Tears are streaming down her battered face, now, and there's evidence of early bruising on her jaw and bloodied cheekbone. Without her helmet up, the full, long stretch of her throat is right _there_, bare and vulnerable before me.

I don't let myself think twice.

I crack my jaw. Take another look at the long stretch of her throat. And rip the whole thing out in its entirety.

There is no cannon as I let her limp body fall, blood streaming from her neck. Her pack is over my shoulders and the knives strapped across my chest in the next three heartbeats.

I ignore the blood staining my face, the taste of it staining my mouth. There is no time to process what I've done.

Any idea I'd possessed of taking down any of the Careers flees from my mind. One word replaces them, and my flight or fight instinct is kicking in. I need to get out of here. The screams are dying down, the sounds of steel against steel are fading. It won't be long until someone spots me. If I want to make it out with my life, I need to run.

I turn away from Lancia Carerra's battered and broken body. Her blood is metallic and salty on my tongue as I start running. Guilt is eating its way through my stomach, and I feel like I want to throw up. It takes me down the old, painfully familiar path. I want to refuse to walk it. Refuse to accept that I don't know every twist and turn by heart and pretend that I am the person that I demand myself to be. I want to see myself in pastels, not perfect color. I want to clear my ledger, wipe every bit of red and black off of it, leave it white as snow, innocent as a newborn babe or a young lamb. But if I would turn the page- rewrite my own story, tell my own, new, beautiful tale, no one will ever know what I've gone through. People will never know the real me, and it is who I am that makes me the Wolfchild.

They will forget me, and, with time, I will forget myself. And I can't bear the thought of that.

I have to keep my face turned towards the sun, and my eyes focussed on the sunrise.

_It is time to replenish._

My name is Asher Foster, and I am a Tribute of the 26th Hunger Games.

A scream cleaves the air behind me- young and male, but I do not look back.

I'll show them. Prove them all wrong.

_I am so much more than a coward._

o0o

**Aegis Harlow (18) District 2 Tribute**

My breath is coming hard and fast when I reach Thames and Athena, and a fierce sense of pride rushes through me as Thames' first spear goes straight through Harold Lachin's heart.

The gorgon has been yanking on its leash ever since I'd run into my stupid, _moronic_ Stylist early this morning. _You're not doing one any favors, pairing up with that pretty boy from 1 and all._ The way she'd said pretty had grated on my nerves. Like it was an insult. The subtext in that statement had been infuriatingly clear as she'd sneered over the lip of her bottle. _Not worthy, unclean, how could you love someone with a face like his_

_Fuck that. _

I'm tired of holding myself back. For pretending to be something that I'm not. I've been fighting against this caged _monster _that lives inside me for my entire life. It hasn't gotten me anywhere, not when it really comes down to it- the beast still breaks free of its leash. Still shatters the iron bars I've built around it with maddening ease.

I'm exhausted from fruitlessly attempting to tame my monsters, and honestly, I'm beginning to forget why I even try in the first place.

I forget because it feels _good._ It feels so, so _good_ to open myself up and let the dark side feast on my soul.

_Why don't we let the monsters come out and play for a little while?_

There has been a timer counting down ever since I stepped onto the pedestal this morning. The gong that signaled the beginning of these Hunger Games was only a warning bell.

My clock is ticking, and it's about to reach zero.

An impossible smile tugs at my lips at the prospect. _Freedom. _It's been too long- far, far too long since I've ever indulged myself on anything I've ever truly wanted. _I'm about due for something like this._

Beside me, Sash seems to have picked up his preferred weapon- and the bands of light on the bow have changed from the dark glow of Scythe Tonium to his own dark violet.

There is no emotion on his face as he runs his fingers over the cool metal of the bow, running his hands lightly over the curves and drawing back the string.

I hear her before I see her. The sound of harsh breathing reaches my ears, and I spin around. I fling out my sword arm on an impulse, my knuckles whitening as I hold the blade steady, and Santeena Paige lets out a shriek as my weapon rips into her arms. She stumbles to a halt, turning towards us, her fingers already going to her arm as tears begin to slide down her face. Her breath is loud and harsh as it comes in sharp gasps between her gritted teeth.

_Stupid._ She should have kept running. Her eyes lock onto something over my left shoulder, and something like relief softens her posture. Her second mistake.

He won't save her.

Sash's eyes are flat, cool as ice as he looks over at his District partner. The girl's shivering and her hair is matted to her forehead with sweat. The dark orchid color of her suit throws her face into shadow. "P-please," she stutters. Sash doesn't even blink as he nocks an arrow to his bow and pulls his arm back. His voice is as cold as his gaze. "Please, don't kill me!"

"These are the Hunger Games, Santeena." A shrug. Careless and negligent. "You shoulda learned how to play."

Her brown eyes widened.

Sash doesn't even flinch as he sends his arrow clean through her throat.

A grin smile crosses my face as she crumples to the ground. Sash meets my eyes, and there is no emotion there as he dips his head in a slight nod.

"I'll take the right, you take the left."

Understanding flickers through his dark eyes and he's moving, already reaching back for another arrow as he races for the opposite side of the horn. Thames doesn't move for another heartbeat. Then, "I'll take the far side, you take near. Clear everyone in the area." He glances at my sword. "Can you pick up another one of those? I've run out of spears."

I mutely hand over the weapon, although it's a colossal effort to let go of the hilt. Words are beyond me, A foreign concept, and all I can do is nod back as Thames takes the sword and starts chasing after the girl from 4.

Every wolf, every dragon, every monster that sleeps inside me is about to awaken. And I will show them _all _what hell looks like when it wears the skin of a Tribute like me.

The nearest Tribute is only ten, maybe twenty yards away. She's hauling a bag over her shoulder, her back to me. There's a sword strapped across the back of the pack as well. _How convenient. _I cover the distance between us in the span of four even breaths.

The only metal I have on me rests against my throat.

_(Hard edges digging into my already bloody palm. Screams forced down, stomped into nothingness, and blood flowing down instead of tears.)_

Foolish. Foolish of them to let me bring something like this into the Arena. Because everything can be a weapon, depending on how one holds it.

I've almost reached her when a solid weight slams into me, nearly taking me off my feet. A snarl works its way out of my throat. _There is nothing that will stop me from killing this girl. _

I shove Brandon Scorn off me, and we face off. He holds a sword in his hand, and I momentarily wonder why the _hell_ he didn't slam _that_ into me instead of his body. Whether it was the heat of the moment, inexperience, or his own idiotic conscious telling him that _'it's wrong to kill people'_, I'm fucking grateful for the next breath I take.

I don't have much time. Lucky for me, Brandon's already moving, his sword up and a yell on his lips. _"Don't you _dare_ touch her!"_

He's unbalanced, though. I can see it in his stride, the way he runs at me. His hold on the weapon is basic, and won't allow him room for error. If he's going to strike me down, his first blow will have to land, and I have no intention of standing here like a good little boy and letting him kill me.

Brandon swings his sword, and it's an easy sidestep out of the way of the sword, towards him. My fist connects with his jaw before he has a chance to react, and he drops like a stone. _He won't stay down for long._

I move fast. I'm on the girl from 10 before she has time to react, and I yank the necklace over my head and loop it around her own neck instead. I pull tight, the pendant digging into her trachea, and satisfaction is a song in my very veins as a drop of blood blooms on her skin and trickles down her neck.

Sierra stares up at me, aquamarine eyes full of terror. The chain of my necklace digs into her throat and she wheezes for air. I think she says _please_. I ignore her, and simply only tighten my grip. _There is no time for mercy._

She bucks against my hold, but I refuse to let up. Her hands scrabble uselessly at the silver chain, at the emerald-eyed serpent, but her struggles slowly begin to weaken. Her efforts slow, growing more and more sluggish before her body begins to convulse. _Death throes. _It won't be long now.

The buzzing that has begun in the back of my mind is growing stronger. Building, coalescing into a single word, one that pounds through my blood in time to the beat of my heart. _Kill. _And who am I to ignore that crimson-drenched call? Someone screams, somewhere off to my left, as I let Sierra's limp body drop to the ground. I turn to face the young boy as he gets to his feet. Unsteady, but still upright. Blood trickles from his nose, and his jaw is already swelling from where I punched him earlier. He raises his sword- _stupid, I should have disarmed him once I knocked him out- _and lunges for me. I rip the sword from the backpack and raise my own weapon. Smile. And lead him into the first steps of my dance of death.

He's learned a little, in training, at least. An amateur. His strikes are too heavy, he puts too much weight into one swing. His parries are weak and ineffective at best. I let him play, for a few minutes. Let him think he's getting somewhere. That he's holding his own against a _Career._ Against _me_.

_As if. Keep dreaming._

Then it gets boring. He gets progressively sloppier, strength flagging from the weight and heft of the weapon. I _move_. A blow to the base of his sword, near the hilt, and it's skittering out of his hands. Another strike and his head is rolling across the black ground. His body remains standing on its own for a moment longer, before falling in a limp heap.

It doesn't matter who else has gotten a kill on this battlefield.

In the end, I don't intend for there to be anyone else walking out of here alive. Not even Thames.

_Aegis: 2_.

_Everyone Else: 0._

o0o

**Mic Klaus (14) District 11 Tribute**

The screaming is painfully loud in my ears as I race away from the Cornucopia. Even if I want to get a look at the bloodletting going on behind me to check on my allies, I can't risk it.

I don't look back. I can only pray that Scythe and Lancia and the rest of our runners have made it out alive. The line of glowing trees isn't far off, but it seems like miles as I charge towards it. There will be no cannons to alert me to the body count that is sure to pile up within the next half hour. With the bloodshed and slaughter that is sure to take place, it's probably too hard to keep up with who dies and how many cannons to fire. The human survival instinct is a wondrous thing, and even though it often kicks in far too late, we are surprisingly hard to kill.

I can only hope that the majority of our alliance makes it out unscathed.

There are screams ringing in my ears as I flee. Cries of pain, some surely for mercy that will not come. Not at the hands of the Careers.

There are hardly any people in front of me as I hare towards the trees. _Almost there, almost there, almost there._ There's only the girl from 4, her long legs eating up the ground.

Do I need to move? Maybe I should change course. There's a pack on her back, and she _is_ from 4. It doesn't appear that she has a weapon on her, so unless she plans to wrap her hands around my throat and squeeze the life out of me, we won't be doing each other much damage. She's fast, though. And she's not going to stop once she reaches the trees. The Careers will be hunting tonight, and if they find someone, it's lights out, especially the first night in the Arena, when most of us are still adjusting and are scavenging for supplies and materials.

_The first night is always the deadliest one,_ Natalia had told me. _The Careers will usually still be running on the high of the bloodbath and will be eager to kill again. _

_We aren't allies, _I remember saying. _Why are you telling me this?_

Natalia'd laughed a little, then. _Even if we're in different alliances, we should still look out for each other._

_We should still look out for each other._

And as I watch, Marina skids to a halt. She stumbles to her knees where she stands, shaking her head, hands coming up to rub at her temples.

I can't stop myself from calling out her name, concern gnawing at my insides as I near her. "Marina?"

She doesn't answer. An arrow goes flying over her head, and I'm forced to throw myself out of the way as it whistles for me. I'm up and running again within the next breath, but I can't watch an arrow go through her throat.

The next shot, the arrow glowing a slate gray color, embeds itself in her pack.

_What's going on with her?_

"_MARINA!"_ I repeat, yelling at the top of my lungs. She's still on the ground, clutching at her head, her hair, clawing at her skull as if she needs something _out_.

I shouldn't go to her.

She's not even part of our alliance, and she's from 4. Everything I've been told over the last week has revolved around one main idea: avoid the Careers, and I'm more likely to make it out alive.

Marina screams again, tipping her head up to the endless black sky above us and howling as if her soul is being torn straight from her body.

No one's made a move towards her yet, but it's only a matter of time.

I sprint for the girl, urging _speed speed speed_ into my legs. "Marina!" I skid to my knees beside her, gripping her under the arms and _hauling _her up. "Marina, we've got to go, you're going to die if you stay here any longer!"

She offers no response and is a dead weight in my arms. She stopped screaming at the first brush of my hand against the bare skin of her shoulder, exposed by the cut of her suit, and now simply shudders. Her blonde hair is plastered to her forehead with sweat and her brilliant blue eyes are dull and staring at something far off in the distance. Her lips are moving, but I can't understand a word of what she's saying. Her breath, which smells like sea salt and something distinctly feminine, works its way into my nostrils as I pull her along behind me. _Come on, Marina, you gotta move, work with me here!_

I could always let her go. I could let her drop to the ground and leave her to fend for herself against the five armed Careers that have most likely secured the Cornucopia. It would be easy for me to run then, and without the extra weight of her dragging me down, I could probably still make it to the tree line without getting caught out. If I play it smart, I might be able to get out of this alive. And yet…

_I can't let her die like this._

The rest of my allies will have to go on without me. I can only pray that some of the dark shapes that are vanishing into the forest are some of my allies and that they'll make it farther than I will.

The only thing I can control in these Hunger Games is when I decide to meet death, and I've stepped right up to its door and rung the bell. It's out of my control whether they answer or not. Invite me in. And the moment I step over that threshold, there will be no more going back.

I hear shouting, voices behind me. I hear them, and my heart, the _coward's_ heart beating in my chest, urges me to _run. Run away. Leave her here, let her die, and live to fight another day. Survive this._ But I can't. Who knows what they'll do to her, especially someone as beautiful as she is? She's no fighter. If there's one thing I've come to realize about this girl, it's that she wasn't made for bloodshed. She's a free, roaming spirit, meant to be dancing among the waves and walking the beaches of 4. She's not supposed to be here.

Then again. There aren't a lot of us who are.

_Stupid._ I am a stupid, _stupid _fool for doing this, as well as a dead one, to boot. But if I can get them away from her, get their attention on me, maybe that will give Marina Bloyster the opening she needs to survive. Maybe. It's a risk I'll have to take. _Better my life than hers. _

"RUN!" I yell into Marina's ear. She staggers as I let go of her, blinking fast. But she remails upright. _"RUN!"_ I repeat and shove her towards the forest.

_Death opens the door. Takes the form of Norman, with his graying hair and straggly beard, with a huge smile on his face. 'Welcome home, Mic.' He holds open his arms. _

I turn to face the Careers. _Suicide._ This is suicide.

No.

Not suicide.

A sacrifice.

The last thing I see is Aegis Harlow's frozen smile and the blade of his sword coming straight towards my throat.

o0o

**Marina Bloyster (18) District 4 Tribute**

There is nothing I can do to stop the voices. To stop every single one of them as they invade my head, wriggling their way through my brain like parasites and infecting my every thought, my every movement with negativity. I can't even breathe without something shouting at me, telling me I'm worthless.

'_Cowardly girl.'_

'_You're useless'_

'_You shouldn't have Volunteered for this, how could you have been so stupid?'_

"Shut up," I whisper as I run. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

'_Why are you running away?' _ a voice demands.

'_She's scared,' _another answers.

'_She can't stomach the Bloodshed. All she did was grab a pack and run. She's no Career girl.'_

It's an effort not to crumple to the ground right then and there. It takes all my willpower to stay upright, to keep my legs moving. _Moving, I have to keep moving._

I've always been dreading this moment. Some dark, brutally honest corner of my mind had known this was going to happen. _Is this it? _I wonder helplessly. _Is this the moment I finally snap? Go mad? _ I certainly feel like this is it. The voices are clamoring around in my head, and it's a herculean effort to separate my thoughts from theirs because there are simply _too many of them._

_I have to keep moving._

They steal into my mind like deranged thieves, taking everything that I value, adding new dangerous ideas, seeding new personalities and muddling up the rest. New sparks of ideas that I once would have dismissed as insane and bizarre have grown roots, deep roots, and begin to make sense, in a horrifyingly fascinating way. They become clear in a single revolutionary moment of clarity, one after the other, cascading out of control. The voices forge a path so alluring, with the promise of ecstatic immortality glowing at the end, luring me away from the path I have chosen for myself, until I am so deep that I no longer recognize the world around me. The voices have woven me an inescapable maze, a prison with no walls.

I am trapped inside my own head, and there is no way out.

There is no way out.

'_There is no way out, Marina, you are trapped.'_

'_Why don't you just give up already?'_

'_Stupid, foolish girl.'_

I collapse to the ground.

The voices grow louder, a single beat, boring into my skull. An ever-evolving monster that I cannot contain nor control.

"Get out!" I shriek. My fingers tangle themselves in my hair, winding around the strands and _tugging_. The pain offers no relief. "_GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"_

Darkness is swimming at the edges of my vision, but I know it's not because my eyes are clear. There is no reason for me to be feeling dizzy or disoriented.

The voices reach a feverish pitch, shouting and overlapping and making my head spin.

Distantly, I know that someone is calling my name. Dragging me to my feet. _What are they doing? Why would they help someone like me?_

'_You do not deserve to be helped,'_ winds through my thoughts. _'You deserve death.'_

My legs are like rubber beneath me and try as I might, I cannot get them to move. The same voice sounds in my ear, again. My name? No. No, it is another word entirely.

Then the support falls out from under me and I stumble back. Regain my footing, but only because of years of standing among the surf and its unpredictable currents.

"_Run!"_ someone is yelling in my ear, and all the noise comes _rushing rushing rushing_ back and I am no longer floating in darkness.

_Run._ Run, run, run, run, run. I am in the Hunger Games, and the only way to survive in the Arena is to run. Whether it's away from a hunter, or towards your own prey. Never stop moving._ I can never stop moving._

There is still sound in my head, there will always be sound in my head, but it fades back for a heartbeat. _Run._

I stagger into a run. I don't know who it was that helped me. I don't know whether the voice was male or female, whether they even existed, and if they did, whether they are alive or not.

The backpack thuds against me as I haul ass towards the forest. There's an arrow sticking out of it- when did that happen?

I get my answer.

I get it, in the form of a searing pain up my leg. Like getting stabbed with a needle, but much, much worse. It buckles beneath me, and I'm on the ground before I can blink.

'_Up!' _a voice roars at me. _'Up, get up, you stupid girl!'_

It's too late for that. Footsteps sound behind me. A heavy tread, along with a lighter, easier step. Both still distinctly male. I roll over onto my back.

I'm not going to die facedown. That's the one thing my voices and I can agree on.

Thames and Aegis stand over me. Both Careers are armed with swords, although Thames doesn't look as comfortable wielding his as his companion does. That doesn't stop him from nudging the tip just under my chin. "Move, and I spill your throat on the ground." His grip doesn't waver as he glances at Aegis. The question is clear: which one of them will get the honor of killing me?

"I killed Mic," Aegis rumbles. His voice is dark, slightly rough, deeper than it usually is. "This one's yours."

Thames looks down at me. His hazel eyes are awash with an emotion I can't say I've ever seen on any Career before- pity. And it's not the mocking kind, that a hunter might give his prey, although that is exactly the situation we are in: I am the helpless deer, caught in the predator's trap, and there's nothing I can do to break free. Instead, there is a great expanse of sadness pooled in those hazel eyes. Regret lingers there as well. Just under the surface. Unnoticeable to anyone who wasn't looking.

More off-putting than Thames Venturi's expression though, is the name. _Mic._ It clangs through me. _Mic._ He must have been the one who helped me. Who pulled me out of my haze, back into the real world. I force myself up onto my elbows.

Aegis' boot connects with my ribcage, and I drop onto my back with a grunt of pain. It was enough though. The brief glimpse I'd caught.

A boy's body.

His head lolling at a horrific angle, with blood streaming from his neck, or at least what's left of it. He wasn't quite decapitated, but it came close.

Decapitation or not, aside. Mic is dead.

The boy who saved me, sacrificed himself so that I might have a chance to live, is gone, and his death will be in vain.

There is no way I can escape this.

Shame, hot and panging, rushes through my blood. Heats my face.

'_You stupid girl,'_ they repeat.

This time, I do not argue.

Aegis kicks me again, and I try to stop the whimper that crawls its way up out of my throat and flops pathetically on the ground beside me.

There is nothing left inside but a chasm of humiliation and regret. A dark abyss yawns just behind my eyes, threatening to swallow me whole.

I will be glad to let it devour me.

"Get her on her back." Thames' voice is impassive as he continues to hold his spear level at my throat. Readying for the death blow. The look I had seen on his face has vanished, like dewdrops in the morning sun. It is quite possible that I had just imagined it.

_'Foolish girl.'_

Aegis delivers another stinging blow to my abdomen, this time to the left side of my body. I wheeze around it and roll onto my back. Exactly where they want me.

The spear has vanished from where it was threatening to shred into my throat and instead is poised over my chest. Right over my heart.

I don't try to get out of the way.

I force my head up. Focus my eyes on Mic's prostrate, limp body.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, and Thames' spear plunges down. "I'm sorry," I whisper, one last time, before darkness washes over me, and claims me as its own.

o0o

**Thorne Raven (17) District 12 Tribute**

My lungs are burning, and my legs are begging for rest, but it's as if someone's lit a fire inside of me and instructed me to _run, run, and never stop._ Distance is all that matters. Distance between me and the Careers, between me and those who want to end my life. I almost can't think past the wicked pain in my leg, spearing up my left side whenever my foot hits the ground, but I _can't stop running._ They've marked me as a target, and they will be hunting me once the bodies have been removed and the Careers assemble a plan.

_Boom. Boom. Boom, boom, boom. Boom. Boom. Boom, boom. _Nine canon shots sound in the distance. Nine Tributes, dead already, and it hasn't even been more than an hour in the Arena. My heart drops somewhere low in my stomach. _There's no way I can survive this. _Not when there are this many people dead already. Things usually slow down after the Bloodbath, and there's a lull where the Capitol viewers are satisfied and revel in the bloodshed, before coming back stronger than ever, chomping at the bit and clamoring for violence.

_Don't stop running._ I continue to limp through the strange, dark forest-like place. The trees are lit up like glowsticks and will do nothing to provide cover for someone like me, even with the dark hue of my suit that might let me fade into the shadows if it weren't for the latticework of blue light that covers the ground.

The pack and square of tarp that I'd picked up at the Cornucopia are heavy against my back as I continue my desperate race through the trees. _The Careers. _I have to get far enough away from the Careers in order to survive this first night.

In other Hunger Games, tributes with sleeping bags would climb trees and strap themselves into sleep at night, so they might have the cover of foliage and darkness on their side when they were most vulnerable. Here, in this digital, glowing frontier, that is not an option. _Here, there is no room for error. _None of us who want to make it out in one piece can even _consider _failure as an option.

I'd counted four other figures vanishing into this strange, luminescent forest. There are four of us among the trees. I can only hope that I don't run into anyone else. I'm devastatingly easy prey for even the weakest Tribute, all they would have to do is press their fingers into my leg until I pass out from the agony and then snap my neck.

As if in a vicious reminder, the wound in my leg is sending constant pulses of _agony_ up my side, and I can't quite breathe around the pain. My head is swimming, thoughts blurring together, overlapping in a dizzying rush of _cans_ and _can'ts _and _don'ts. _

Gritting my teeth, I walk myself through a basic group of commands. _Now you need to sit down, Thorne. Now you need to drink a little bit of water, Thorne._ I perform both actions carefully, lowering myself to the ground gently, so as not to disturb my injured leg._ Now you need to look through your pack, Thorne. _

Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I open it and shake the contents into the ground. A package of crackers, about a half-pound of dried fruit, a bottle of iodine pills, a liter of water, and a sleeping bag tumble out. Not _too_ bad, but I'm going to need more supplies if I'm going to make it through the next few weeks or so. Especially with my injury. Without medicine, I run a higher risk of infection. If the wound gets infected, then its lights out. A very slow, very painful death. There is always the chance that I will be able to outlast the contamination that would work its way through my body, but nothing is a given. Who knows how long these Hunger Games will last?

I begin to cram everything back into the bag. Luckily, it's the same dark color as my suit, and the muted purple doesn't stand out as much as the blue that lines the entirety of what might be the whole Arena. I need to find a place to camp for the night. I'm not nearly far enough away from the Careers as I would like, but I have to hope that they won't come for me. I saw Asher Foster scamper away from the horn on my way here- there are bigger fish to fry in this Arena than some wounded magician.

Magician.

Magic and sleights of hand will be no use to be here unless I can awe my competitors so much that they want me for an ally. _Yeah, no. _Magic is for children, the people on the streets say. Magic is for the innocent, for those who are still untouched by the dark leeches and parasites of this world.

No one who comes out of the Games is innocent. It is rare that any of the ones who go in are completely unscathed, too.

_Unscathed_ indeed. My leg barks in pain as I haul myself to my feet. The trees, bright as they are, are dense here. If the God of Good Fortune and the Lady of Luck are looking down upon me today, they will provide enough cover, at least through the night hours. I send a quick prayer up to the starless skies. _Let me fear no evil. Feel no pain._ The ancient words are often said before a death, but in this time and place, I feel that they are equally suiting.

I eye the trees. This forest is ancient. The trees are thick and old, their roots twisted every which way. The neon blue light is cold in this place, and it seems like this place has no palpable reason to exist. It's a creaking shack created by the Gamemakers to remind us that things can get much, much worse in the Arena then they are right now. The mist that swirls through this place is unnatural and choking and is the first thing about this place to speak of some sense of _wrong. _The sickly substance seems to possess liquid properties which only remind me of the maggot-like texture of the eyes of a dead man who has been forgotten in the back alleys of 12 for a few months, ready to burst at the slightest touch. _This place can't be good for a Tribute. I won't be able to stay here long. _

I have no choice, though. I physically cannot go any farther, not today. Not with the condition my leg is in, the lower side of my calf shredded to ribbons from where Halliday Frost had momentarily taken me down.

I study the long, reaching branches of the trees around me. They wind towards me, stretching and grabbing like bony gray fingers. _Trees aren't supposed to be this color, _a distant part of my mind supplies. _They aren't supposed to look like this, like skeletons that sway only in a supernatural breeze._

This place had looked welcoming on the outside, and perhaps this is some trick of the Capitol, to create a forest of death to lure all of us into and force us into slow painful deaths. I wouldn't put it past any of the Gamemakers, especially not Valkyrie Summers.

There's nothing I can do about it right now, though. Tomorrow morning, I will retrace my steps to the very edge of the treeline and look for more suitable camping grounds. For now, though… for now, I have to tough this out, grit my teeth, and weather the storm.

Climbing a tree will be excruciating, but like so many other things, I have no other choice. I select one with the lowest branches and fix my gaze on a fork between two thick, hopefully stable branches. _Here goes nothing._

Gritting my teeth, I grip the branch, my pack heavy on my shoulders.

And then the rain starts pouring down.

o0o

**Killian Doppelmen (15) District 6 Tribute**

I'm far, far away from the remnants of the carnage when the cannons begin to sound.

I only wish I'd gotten a kill off at the Bloodbath, but judging by the cannon shots in the distance, it's better that I'd run. Nine dead. _Nine. _Fifteen left to play the game. _Which means fourteen targets that have to be eliminated. _

I tilt my face up to the dark, endless gap that makes up the sky of this Arena. With the helmet off, the electric blues of the Arena are almost blinding against the stark black.

A massive city looms before me. Domed buildings, skyscrapers, with ramps spiraling throughout the entire metropolis. _Who knows what the Capitol will have in store for me here? _Mutts, traps, whatever they've thought up, my death will not be quick if I'm not careful.

Pursing my lips, I start towards the nearest building. I wasn't able to pick anything besides a small bag that contains an apple, five bouillon cubes, and some water. Sparse supplies, but I'll have to survive on them until I can find something else worth eating.

The three colors of this Arena so far appear to be black, and lambent blue and orange. The forest yields no lush greenery, and although the shapes certainly look like trees, they are the same black as the ground and the Cornucopia and the buildings, with lit-up patterns running their length. The ones on these look like interlocked circles- a short line between each one. I briefly remember something of identical design running down the side of Head Gamemaker Valkyrie Summer's face when I saw her on the day of private sessions. That can't be a coincidence. _Nothing is a coincidence, not in the Hunger Games._

I've just barely ducked inside the arched doorway of my selected building when the deluge begins. There are no doors to this particular establishment, but the raindrops, despite being blown this way, do not pass the threshold of my safe house. _Interesting._ Rain hammers down out of the sky, falling like it means to wash any unfortunate souls away. It falls in crazy, chaotic drops, the howling wind out of nowhere carrying them in wild vortices one moment and in diagonal, pounding sheets the next. _Thank whatever god is listening that I'm not the one caught out there and having to deal with that mess._

While the Gamemakers are having their fun, fucking with the other Tributes and soaking them to their very bones, I might as well explore, while I am safe and dry. The safe part may not last for long- I count on the fact that it won't- but what can one expect when they are a Tribute in the Hunger Games. What bothers me most is that I am unarmed- there is no way for me to defend myself if something were to attack me then use my own body as a shield or a weapon. It's not necessarily a position one wants to find themselves in.

If there are any mutts in this place, I won't be able to hear them coming, given the racket that the rain is causing outside. Exploring isn't the smartest thing to do, but I need to scout the area. If there's another way in this place that I don't know about, another Tribute or the Careers could sneak in and slit my throat during the night, and I sure as hell am not going to let that happen. Not on my watch. A single ramp- what's with this place and ramps?- leads up to what must be the second floor. I chose a shorter building for a reason but based on its height as I approached it, it has to be at least three stories.

Ramps are easier on the legs than stairs, I suppose.

There are five floors in all. Five floors. No visible entrances or exits except the one I'd come through. There isn't even any furniture to speak of- no rooms, no nothing, just one big space. Alternating blue and orange lights guide me up the ramp each floor until I reach a hatch that must lead to the roof. _There isn't anyone who can scale a building like this in the Arena. _Not the smooth material the walls are made of, and especially not after a rainstorm like this. During my expedition, in which I had not come across any mutts, the rain and stopped as quickly as it'd come. As long as the sloped roof doesn't defy physics and have a shit ton of water sitting on top of it, just waiting to flood through this place, I should be safe to open the hatch.

I do so, and clamber out onto the roof.

I catch my breath.

Up here, it's like looking down at the world. I can see the strange black trees, the whole grid-like floor of the Arena that stretches on for as far as the eye can see. Up here, it's like standing on the back of a giant in one of the ancient stories back home, and exploring the world with awe. It's beautiful up here.

I stride to the other side of the roof. Look down, and my breath hitches in my chest. The Arena's city is spread below me. Lights glitter everywhere, like stars dropping to the earth, huge and small buildings colliding in a mixture of shadow and geometry, the lights of the ramps that serve as streets creating twisting threads of light - they all intertwine together in a magnificent mess of a dream.

A breathtaking, marvelous, _frightening_ dream that makes me feel as if someone's split me wide open, that my blood is made of glimmering starlight and gemstones and its spilling onto the rooftop below me.

Shame it won't last. It won't last, because we are in the Hunger Games, and behind every exquisite thing, there is something tragic.

Here, it is do or die.

Kill or be killed.

Hunt or be hunted.

In this Arena, dreams become nightmares and your worst fears become reality. Hidden under all the beauty and gorgeous aesthetic, there is darkness. Blood can still mute the radiant blue and orange of this place. It surely stains the ground all around the Cornucopia and the suits of more than one unfortunate victim and the hands of all five Careers.

The 26th Hunger Games have begun.

o0o

**EULOGIES:**

**24th: Harold Lachin (12) District 3 Tribute (Submitted by **_**Luthien'sLight) **_**Killed by a spear through the heart, courtesy of Thames Venturi. Oh, Harold, buddy. I think we all knew that you were a Bloodbath, considering Beren's other submissions. You were so innocent, and I loved you dearly. Lauren did her very best to nurture you and to help you grow, but it was always your destiny to have a heart of gold and a body that would eventually turn to dirt. Rest in peace, Harold Lachin. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**23rd: Scythe Tonium (17) District 9 Tribute (Submitted by **_**ShippingGoddess56**_**) Killed by an arrow through the throat, courtesy of Athena Shier. Scythe… Scythe, Scythe, Scythe. Not even Valkyrie could save you here. To be fair, you were a bit more trouble than you were worth, Shipping and I are very much in agreement of that. Six feet under is where I've always known I would put you. You're in good company, at least, as the rest of your alliance fell with you. It really is a shame that your talents have been wasted, because you probably could have led that alliance a long way into these Games, if fate had not chosen this path for you. (I am now known as Fate, apparently.) Rest in peace, Scythe Tonium. May you fear no evil and feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**22nd: Lancia Carrera (13) District 6 Tribute (Submitted by **_**thorne98**_**) Killed by getting her throat ripped out courtesy of Asher Foster. Lancia, I'm sorry it had to end this way. Such a violent way to go, although there would have been worse deaths waiting for you had you survived. And you were such a rebel… perhaps it's better that you died here, in the initial chaos, instead of at the hands of the Gamemakers. You were so much fun to write, you little spitfire you. Rest in peace, Lancia Carrera. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**21st: Santeena Paige (13) District 8 Tribute. (Submitted by **_**dsalazz**_**) Killed by an arrow through the throat courtesy of her District partner, Sash Radcliffe. Santeena, you were another young Tribute, and it's unfortunate that you had to go so soon. But this was your time, and fun as you were to write, I just ended up burying you six feet under because there wasn't any real way I could see you surviving the rest of these Games. Writing you absolutely broke my heart, because Sash, in any other world, would have saved you. Would have, could have, should have, yeah? Rest in peace, Santeena Paige. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**20th: Sierra Encantada (14) District 10 Tribute (Submitted by **_**sherzade96**_**) Killed via asphyxiation courtesy of Aegis Harlow. There are so, so many younglings here that I didn't want to see go, but found it implausible to keep them longer than this. I apologize to Julia, Tempest, and Kit on your behalf. I wish there was some other way, but your alliance was destined to die. Rest in peace, Sierra Encantada. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**19th: Elwood Liang (14) District 7 Tribute (Submitted by **_**thorne98**_**) Killed by literally being ripped in half, courtesy of the mutt FANG. Elwood, you tricky bastard you. Thorne, you dubbed him as the human firecracker for a while, and I was tempted to just blow him up somehow. But then FANG wormed his way into my head and **_**blam**_**, Elwood just provoked him and that was the end of that. I would have liked to have seen where you, Elwood, could have gone if you hadn't pissed off my dog. Rest in peace, Elwood Liang. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**18th: Brandon Scorn (16) District 10 Tribute (Submitted by **_**Team Shadow**_**) Killed via decapitation, courtesy of Aegis Harlow. And that does it for District 10! Gone, dead, no more. I wrote you as an intended Bloodbath, and thus you were flat, boring, and unnoticeable, and also part of the Bloodbath alliance. For that I apologize- no one deserves that. Your sense of humor was much appreciated in the darker moments in the Capitol, but there are other jokes to crack in the Arena. One of which was your head. (I'm really sorry for that. That was bad. I'll shut up now.) Rest in peace, Brandon Scorn. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**17th: Mic Klaus (14) District 11 Tribute. (Submitted by **_**Percy Ross Vlucha Uchai**_**) Killed by a sword being put through his throat, courtesy of Aegis Harlow. You, Mic, should be proud of your almost headless self. You were the last surviving member of the alliance you founded with Elwood. You certainly could have become a villain, with the way your thoughts were going, but I couldn't bring myself to turn you dark, so you had to die. Your trains of thought were always fun to follow, and I would have been perfectly content just hopping on one of them one day and seeing where it all would take me. Rest in peace, Mic Klaus. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**16th: Marina Bloyster (17) District 4 Tribute (Submitted by **_**Percy Ross Vlucha Uchai**_**) Killed by a spear through the heart, courtesy of Thames Venturi. Oh, Marina. You poor, schizophrenic girl. My heart goes out to be, it really does, but there wasn't any way I could see you making it any further into the Arena and keeping your wits about you. You didn't deserve anything that happened to you, and I wish you all the best wherever you are now. Your voices were probably the hardest thing to write about you, but it's not so hard imagining all the negativity of other people and putting them into someone else's head. Thank you for being such a fun, easy write, in the short time I had to enjoy you. Rest in peace, Marina Bloyster. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**o0o**

**Alliances:**

_**We're Wide Awake Now (Careers): **_**Thames Venturi (D1M), Halliday Frost (D1F), Aegis Harlow (D2M), and Athena Sheir (D2F), and Sash Radcliffe (D8M)**

_**Touching The Stars: **_**Lauren Silver (D3F), Danielle Oakwood (D8F), Natalia Oakly (D11F), and Aveline Wren (D12F)**

_**Among The Hidden (Loners, for now):**_** Mikail Drakil (D4M), Asher Foster (D5M), Ambrose Volta (D5F), Phoenix/Killian Doppelmen (D6M), Jordan Wheaton (D9M), and Thorne Raven (D12M)**

**o0o**

**A/N: And there's the Bloodbath! It was really, really fun to write, and it's probably one of the chapters I've most been looking forward to when I started this SYOT (this and the final, I think). I hope you all enjoyed it too, with the massive kill count of 9 people dead. Yeah, that's, like, 15 people left, oh boy. **

**The next chapter, detailing night one in the Arena, will be out sometime next week. Maybe. I don't know anymore. I promised this one within a week, and look where we landed ourselves. I might need to take some time off after this 20k monster. A few days or so. I've gotten a little bit already written for the next chapter, so I feel like I can allow myself that much. Thank you so much for sticking with me throughout this, and I'm so sorry for the late update. I wrote this in about… oh, five, six days or so, nowhere near as impressive as 18k in three days (Thorne, I applaud you and don't know how you managed to pull it off, you might just be magic). But still. Man. *yawns* I'm worn out.**

**But all that aside, I'm so glad we've gotten here. It makes me feel a whole lot better to know that I've actually got a chance of finishing this thing, you know? We have, about, I think 12-15 chapters left, but don't quote me on that. **

**As for… well, at least one of you, yes, I DID DO SOME RESEARCH before writing Lancia's death. It is possible for someone to get their throat ripped out, although getting it 'ripped out' isn't entirely accurate in my opinion, because then they wouldn't have very much of a neck then. But if someone's strong enough, they would be able to pull it off, and hell, Enobaria did it in the canon for the series, so why shouldn't Asher be able to do it here, yeah? Heh. If any of you caught the Oscar Wilde quote in there, that's 10 Sponsor points towards the Arena because his stuff is so amazing that I can't even put it into words. PM me the answer, to keep things fair and to foil anyone lurking in the reviews!**

**Also, this story now has a website! I finally got my shit together and made one, and although it's the bare minimum, it's still there! You can find it at: locked - and - loaded - 26th - annual - hunger - games . weebly . com (just delete the spaces)**

**15 Tributes left! Who will make it out alive? There's a poll on my profile if you'd like to take your vote. Please fill it out!**

**One more reminder: SPONSORING. Things are gonna get hella rough if you think you can just stack points and have a shit ton of them in the next game. Starting the next chapter, items will begin to increase by 10 points in value every update. If you would like to Sponsor someone, PM me. Thank you!**

**With that, I will close out my long-winded author's note with my usual signature farewell, until the next time!**

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever**_** in your favor,**

**-SetFires (Vixen)**


	24. With Every Move I Die

_"Here we go, this is my confessional_

_A lost cause, nobody can save my soul_

_Inside it's dark and cold_

_With every move, I die…"_

_~Dancing With Tears In My Eyes (Ke$ha)_

o0o

**Lauren Silver (18) District 3 Tribute**

**3:00 pm**

There is no such thing as sunrise or sunset in this Arena. The sky remains dark as ever, and the only sources of light are those that are embedded into the Arena itself. The graceful, flowing lines have lost some of their previous glow though- perhaps that is how we determine the time of day in the outside world. The weather seems to work just fine, though. The downpour had forced Aveline, Danielle, Natalia, and I further under the trees. Aveline had made quick work of setting up the large piece of tarp that she'd apparently picked up on her way out of the Bloodbath. Natalia was the only other one with a pack, and it glowed red, unfaltering under the steady rain.

"We need to find someplace to set up camp for the night!" Aveline has to yell to be heard over the pounding of the rain. She dissolves into a coughing fit as soon as the words leave her mouth, doubling over. Danielle's eyes go wide as she rushes to her side, but Aveline waves her off with one hand, the other still clapped over her mouth. "Happens all the time," she gets out, barely audible over the rainstorm. "I worked in the mines of 12 for a while, inhaling all that coal dust hasn't done good things for me."

"Are you going to be alright in the cold?" Natalia is already fishing around in her pack, finding a windbreaker, and draping it over Aveline's shoulders. The jacket, now glowing the same color as Aveline's suit, isn't going to do much against our current situation, but it's the thought that counts and warms my heart.

"I've been in worse." Aveline points at Natalia's pack. "What's in there?"

"I don't know if I want to take it out during this storm!" Nat points out. "Even with the tarp." A nod to Aveline. "Thanks for grabbing that, by the way. These suits don't do anything to keep us warm."

"She has a point," Danielle agrees. "We should wait till this blows by, and then do a supply check."

"Who knows when that will be, though." Aveline has mostly recovered at this point and is only slightly bent over. "If there's anything we desperately need, it's better to know sooner rather than later."

Natalia glances up at the luminescent dark pink tarp above us. "How long will that thing hold against a storm like this."

Aveline's eyes glitter in the fading light from the trees around us. "It'll hold."

Natalia sighs, and swings the bag around her shoulder, undoing the straps and opening it. Danielle and I crouch down on the ground beside her, Aveline quickly joining us.

"There's not much here," Natalia says despondently. She reaches into the bag and pulls out a liter of water, a package of crackers, and a bottle of iodine pills. "Hardly anything to go on. We're going to need some way to find more supplies if we're going to live through this."

I stare down at the tiny pile. One liter of water. One package of peanut-butter crackers. A bottle of iodine pills, and a three-foot-long square tarp that was the only thing shielding us from what very well could be our deaths. I wouldn't put it past the Gamemakers to send down poison rain. It would be a quick, efficient way of eliminating wounded Tributes, that's for sure.

"There's not much opportunity to forage for supplies in this place." I look around. "This isn't like a regular forest." This whole place reeks of death. I don't know if the whole forest is like this, but it can't be good for any of us.

"Once the rain stops, we should try and find a place to sleep for the night," I decide. "We can risk moving out of here tomorrow morning. The Careers will be hunting tonight, especially since they presumably split eight kills between them."

_"Seven." _Aveline puts her chin in her hands. "Seven dead from the Careers and the other two killed by a mutt and Asher Foster." Her eyes are distant as she stares down at the latticework of lines on the ground, lost in memory. "He killed the little girl from 6, Lancia. The one who said all those wonderful things during the Capitol and gave voice to what we've all been thinking. He just slammed her head against the side of the Cornucopia over and over again before-" her voice catches. "Before he literally tore her throat out."

Silence follows her words, and the only sound for a long, long time is the sound of rain on leaves and tree foliage.

"I'll miss that girl." Danielle's voice is quiet, barely heard among the _pitter-patter_ of the rain, which has slowed to a drizzle instead of a downpour. "She was always so determined to get everything right in training and always made everyone else in her alliance laugh. I heard them, over at their table. They all loved her. She was too young to die."

"Aren't we all," Natalia murmurs back. The rain has fully come to a halt now, and Aveline sticks a hand outside the tarp.

"Careful!" I warn, but she's already sliding out, standing up and stretching her arms above her head.

"It seems safe," she declares. "I haven't fallen over dead yet."

_"Yet," _Nat repeats but follows her anyway. Danielle and I do the same, sliding things back into the bag and me swinging it over my shoulder. There's not enough to ration out, not yet, although we all agreed that it's the best option once we do end up getting more supplies.

We're not going to have a place to sleep tonight except the patch of dry ground that the tarp has given us and each other's body heat. Nor do we have enough water to go around for long, and a single package of crackers won't feed four people. Aveline and Nat have gotten into a friendly sort of argument, playfully shoving each other and protesting against whatever the other person said. But Danielle stands beside me, her eyes dark as she watches them. "We're going to need to find somewhere else to stay," is all she says, as if she's read my mind. "The city place might have more stuff there. I doubt that the horn and Sponsor gifts are the only ways to get what we need, or else the Careers would slaughter us all. That doesn't seem like something the Gamemakers would let happen."

"We still need to keep the dog in mind," I answer, keeping my voice equally low. I don't know why it's just the two of us in this conversation and why we're not including the others, but I find that I kinda like the feeling. "We don't have any way to counter it, or to get away."

"It ripped that poor boy in half." Danielle twists her hands together. "It could easily have killed all 24 of us. Why didn't it?"

A stone drops into my belly, almost making me nauseous as I say, "It's because there's no entertainment value in something like that. These are _Games,_ Danielle. The Capitol people want to watch us put up a fight before we die. They want to see us struggle and fret and draw this out as long as possible. Besides, it wasn't the dog who was responsible for the other eight deaths."

"We have no defense against it, though," Danielle insists. "It's much, much stronger and bigger than us. Faster than us, too."

I have to agree with her on that point. We're not going to be able to outrun that thing if it decides to chase us. I don't think anything in this Arena is going to allow us to do so. We'd have to rely on evasive tactics, and then, who knows how smart that _thing_ is. It's not big enough for us to go under it, it's too tall to go over.

Speed is the only way we might be able to evade probably the biggest threat in the Arena, and we have no means of transportation besides our own two legs.

And then, as if my thoughts have triggered something in a control room somewhere in the Capitol, the first canister falls from the sky.

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District 1 Tribute**

**5:00 pm**

"Aegis, we need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," Aegis answers quietly. His inky eyes are fixed solidly on the sword lying in his lap. The red lights on his suit are vibrant in the fading light, and the strange disk on his back is emitting a steady, pulsing glow. "Really, Thames. We're warriors. Killing calm isn't something uncommon for people like us to experience."

Heaving out a long breath, I sit down on the lip of the horn beside him. There is no sun in this Arena, but there was apparently precipitation. A deluge of rain had forced the five of us into the Cornucopia. It had halted almost as soon as it started though- at the press of a button, somewhere in a white room back in the Capitol.

Halliday and Athena just returned from collecting firewood, from the strange forest that lies off towards the left of the Cornucopia, and Sash slips wordlessly down from his tree, ducking into the Cornucopia to find fire-starting materials.

"Aegis, we're _eighteen_. Be honest with yourself: is this really something people as young as us should know the effects of? We're not bred for bloodshed, Age," I repeat, recalling what I'd said to Tiberius… two days ago. Those words had only left my mouth two days ago, and yet it feels like a lifetime because there are nine children dead. Five at our hands.

"We're not bred for bloodshed, and I really don't think that the killing calm makes you go berserk and disembowel people. You killed someone with your _necklace_, Aegis. You're not fooling anyone."

"We're being aired live, you know." Aegis snaps back.

I blink. _Yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?_

"That means that I can't just pour my _fucking_ soul out to you without displaying it to everyone out there, watching this right now."

"This is the _Hunger Games_." I point out. "One of us, very possibly both, will be dead in a week, tops. And if you win, you're going to be a Victor, and I highly doubt that anyone's going to give you shit about how you won the Games, because you won, and as long as you gave them a show, they won't give a shit. Start talking."

Sheathing the weapon across his lap, Aegis sets the scabbard down and slides off the Cornucopia, leaning back against it. I hop down to join him, and he pulls me close, resting my head against his shoulder as he leans down to whisper in my ear.

...

"I still don't understand," I say quietly, hands tucked under my arms, curled against Aegis' side for warmth. The fire Sash and Halliday have started flickers merrily between the five of us. "You're… you. You're brilliant and bold and brave, and you're trying to tell me that you're a _monster?_" I shake my head. "Monsters don't hold me and let me fall asleep to the beat of their heart. Monsters don't comfort me after I break down in one of the worst ways imaginable just because people look at me. You're not a monster, Age. Monsters aren't like you."

Aegis doesn't offer any answer for a span of what might be five minutes or five hours. He simply stares into the fire, the light flickering across his face and casting shadows in his eyes. The quiet murmur of Sash and Halliday's conversation, along with the crackling of the fire, fills my ears to replace the silence, along with Athena's light, airy laugh. Finally, Aegis throws another small stick into the fire. "When I cut myself I bleed, that's human, right? When I'm tired, I sleep, when I'm hungry I eat… and when someone gets under my skin, commits a wrong against me, I have to leash myself in order not to literally take their head off. That's what makes me a monster. I have a knack for violence, Thames." He bites his lip for a moment. Chucks another stick into the flames. "I have a real, true knack for it, and I'm not quite sure where that puts me." His dark eyes reflect the dancing light of the flames. "That's what makes me the monster."

"That's not true!" I protest, but before I can get any further, Sash stands up, immediately catching our attention.

"First night in the Arena," he announces. "I counted nine canons before the rainstorm. That means there are fifteen of us left."

A somber silence follows his words, as reality finally seems to set in. Nine dead. Eight by our hands. Athena doesn't blink as she gazes directly at the fire. Sash's bottom lip is caught between his teeth. Halliday is the only one who doesn't seem affected. _That's right, _I realize with a jolt. _She's the only one of us who didn't get a kill at the Bloodbath._

"Are we hunting tonight?" Indeed, Halliday's voice is laced with iron, her voice cooler than her last name.

"We could." Athena looks up from the fire. "There are probably night vision goggles in one of the crates inside the Cornucopia. I didn't bother to open every one of them, though, so I'm not completely sure." My first thought when I'd really registered the fact that there was light _everywhere_ was that would make for easier hunting when nightfall rolled around. But, despite there being no sun, the lights seem attuned to the day and night schedule and have slowly but surely begun to dim over the last few hours. "Besides," Athena adds. "Halliday took that Thorne guy out of the picture, he should be an easy target."

The other girl only nods, with a brooding sort of expression on her face, and it isn't hard to tell that she's kicking herself for whatever she thinks she did wrong.

"Look!" Aegis jolts against me, dislodging me from my place against his chest. I jerk upright, frowning, but Aegis is looking up. His exclamation and excitement turn our eyes skyward, and there, stark against the black sky of the Arena, is a glimmer of green, matching the color of Halliday's suit. The lit-up parachute gentles and slows the descent of a cylindrical canister, and it lands right in Halliday's outstretched hands.

"Sponsor Gift," Sash grins. "Nice job, Halliday!"

Halliday can't quite seem to stop the smile that spreads across her face as she twists open the lid and peers inside. Her lips quickly purse together, and an eyebrow wings up.

"What is it?"

"That's exactly what I want to know." She upends the container, gently shaking it until a bar, a little longer than her forearm, comes tumbling out, a thinner section in the center glowing the color of emeralds. A scrap of paper is wrapped around the bar. My District partner unfurls it, squinting to make out the words scratched onto the parchment. "Jump. Do not touch the walls," she reads aloud. Frowns. "What?"

"I dunno," Sash shrugs. "Jump? There aren't any walls around though."

She scowls at him, but gives a little hop. Nothing. Aegis and I exchange looks. We'd been sitting on the Cornucopia for the majority of the evening, and nothing seemed to be happening to us.

Athena's eyebrows are drawn together, furrowed in thought as she stands and starts pacing beside the fire, directly along a dim ray of light. "I wonder…" she points towards the strange, spiraling contraption that looms above us, positioned not far out from the Cornucopia, even with the line of trees that encircles half of the clearing. "Those look like ramps. It doesn't make much sense to not have any mode of transportation to use with them." She holds out her hand, presumably for the bar. "Can I see that?"

Halliday narrows her eyes, and Athena sighs out through her nose. "The only reason I'm asking is that this is going to look really stupid if it doesn't work."

"What if it does?"

Athena raises a shoulder. "Then it would look really, _really_ cool. Your choice. I just didn't want to put your dignity on the line."

The emerald-suited girl scoffs. "Just tell me what I need to do."

A hint of a smile, the first I've seen on her face since we reached the Arena, crosses Athena's face. "Jump." She holds out her hands as if she herself is holding the baton. She takes a few steps forward at a light jog, and then pulls her hands apart, leaning forward and giving a short jump.

Halliday squints. "What? Why would I do that?"

"Just an idea." Athena scratches the back of her neck.

My District partner lets out a huff. Takes a few steps back.

"Wait!" Athena exclaims. "Make sure no one is behind you."

Halliday spares a glance over her shoulder, and Sash scoots away, hopping to his feet and joining the rest of us by the mouth of the horn.

"Here goes nothing," Halliday mutters. Starts into a light jog, before leaping, arms outstretched, and pulling at the two ends of the baton.

What happens next shouldn't be possible.

As her feet leave the ground, the shape of a sleek, dark vehicle begins to form beneath her. It takes less than a second to solidify, and Halliday lands on a long, two-wheeled _thing,_ that roars to life beneath her and zooms off. It too, has seamless, flowing lines that tie it in with the rest of the Arena and our suits, and its green glow is visible even from this distance. As we watch, _something_ seems to sputter to life behind her, and soon, a liquidus, wavering sort of light follows Halliday wherever she and the cycle go.

Athena's eyes are shining as Halliday makes a turn sharper than the blade of Aegis' sword and speeds towards us. "Don't touch the walls," she whispers.

Halliday slows to a stop as she reaches us. Her cheeks are red, hair knotted and tangly from the whiplash she must have been getting, but her eyes are fever-bright as she swings her other leg over the seat of the vehicle. As soon as both feet are on the ground, the cycle vanishes, shrinking back into the baton and landing a few inches behind her.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" Sash demands. And then the canisters begin falling from the sky.

Athena throws her head back and lets out a joyous bark of laughter, reaching out to catch the shimmering grey cylinder that comes floating towards her. Aegis catches mine and hands it to me, and we slide our batons out of their casing together, the crimson of his bouncing off the gold light of mine.

"Well?" Halliday's voice is slightly muffled, due to the fact that she's put her visor down. "What are you guys waiting for?" She waves one gloved hand at the circuit of ramps and jumps that make up the massive training spiral. "Let's try these things out!"

o0o

**Mikail Drakil (18) District 4 Tribute)**

**7:00 pm**

The only thing I've found in this mess of a city are ramps, ramps, and more ramps. I don't think stairs even exist in this place. As soon as the gong had sounded, I'd lept off my plate, dove for the nearest pack, clubbed some boy over the head with it, and ran. The Wolfchild and the hulking brute from 9, along with the four girls and magician had seemed dead set on the forest on the other side of the Arena. I headed for the city spires. Someone else had come this way too, Phoenix, I think, the boy from 6, but I haven't seen him.

The downpour was annoying, soaked me in a matter of seconds, but I kept moving through the streets. Nothing jumped out at me though- it seems as if this place had been based off of the Capitol itself, and the avenue I'm currently walking down is the chariot path. This _means_ that the massive mansion I'm heading towards is Seren's home base. _Lovely_. Photographic memory is great and all, and I'd usually be jumping at an opportunity like this, but these are the _Hunger Games._ I'm not going to be able to even _think_ about doing anything unless I get out of here alive, and my odds are not good. I'm small, without a lot of muscle, and the only thing I really have going for me is my brain. _At least Draco was strong and knew how to handle a weapon._

The pit brawls that the gangs on the streets of 4 had participated in have done nothing for me. I learned that I could pick people apart by the way they moved, the way they spoke, a long time ago, and that was all I needed. Here, however… here, I can guarantee that an in-depth scan of character will not keep the Careers from killing me.

_Brains over brawn, though, isn't that what we always used to say?_ If I can outsmart the rest of the competition and keep them off-balance, maybe I can get lucky and make it out of this place with everything intact. Including my sanity.

The thing that makes the usual Victor so trippy is the fact that they've been exposed to so much death at such a young age. Granted, if I'm Victor, I'll have to watch a recap of the Games showing all the surely bloody and brutal and gruesome deaths, but I know I can handle that. I've seen death before. I've just never been the one holding the murder weapon.

_I don't have to be though, do I._

I've been dealt a very specific hand of cards, and if I play them right, I may not have to do any killing at all. Snares, traps, pitfalls, and landmines… with the right supplies, if I can find the right things, then I can do anything.

_A weapon sure would be nice though. I'd rather not go down swinging my fists at something. _

I reach the mansion, push open the heavy black door, the President's crest- a star, with a dagger through its center- stenciled in blue. Stepping inside the huge hallway, lined with, you guessed it, _blue light,_ I take a moment to take stock of my surroundings. The place is well-lit, and with as comically _massive_ this place is, every step I take echoes around the room. _Well, there's no chance of anyone sneaking up on me. That's a definite advantage. _

A spiraling ramp sort of thing rings the room, leading up to what must be the second floor. If I remember right, based on how tall this building looked from the outside, there must be about three stories to it, but the balcony is on the second floor. _A good lookout point, that._ I head for the ramp. The ground is even and smooth under my feet, and, unlike when I climb a flight of stairs, there's no burn in my legs as I step onto the second-floor landing. _Maybe ramps aren't so bad after all._ This floor must be where the President does most of his work, unlike the ground floor, which was unabashedly designed for impressions and grandiose parties. There's nothing I'd like more than to study this place, the layout if this design really is the same as Seren's mansion, but there are other things that have to be done. _If I can find food and water, I could just potentially hole up here and set a shit ton of snares and wait for everyone else to come to me._ The thought of seeing the Careers and the Wolfchild thrashing about, hanging upside down from one foot brings a smile to my face.

_No, I can't do that._ The Capitol people want a show, and if I'm just being boring, sitting here and exploring houses, or even assembling snares, that's going to get boring after a while, and they'll drive me out. This isn't Seren's _real_ mansion, after all, I'm sure they'd have no problem blowing it up. Whether I'm inside it or not. A Tribute trying desperately to escape from a falling building that's probably on fire would surely be entertaining to watch.

I need to keep moving. If there are no supplies here, loathe as I am to admit it, I need to move on. _Now, where is the entrance to the balcony?_

The cityscape is a jumble of shapes of all sorts, like a small child had cast their blocks down randomly before shoving them close together so they all touched. There are rectangles, domes and spires, arches, you name it. Between every building, every could-be dwelling and elaborate structure, the streets are lined with the same blue lines that cover the ground, flow through and over and around every building, tying everything together with a seemingly never-ending band of blue light. It's elegant, in its own way, and oddly peaceful. I can only imagine what Seren Dagger sees in the real world- a place of hustle and bustle and beauty. Of loud noises, of exotic and eccentric fashion… the Capitol. Color and noise and _loud._ So much different from the graceful lines of District 4, the constant roaring of the sea, and the crying of gulls providing background noise as everyone went about their day.

Sure, the Capitol can have its strange luxuries and fashions and clothes, and that's all well and good. But the nature of 4, the way homes are built into seaside cliffs and beach houses are rented out by the richer families of the District, and the beaches were never empty, even on the rainiest, windiest day… the Capitol has nothing on it.

The cannon blast jars me. It's loud enough to make me leap about a foot in the air and stumble back. Trip over something behind me that _decidedly wasn't there before. _

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. _I scramble back on my hands, evasive maneuvers that I've never executed successfully racing through my head, until my vision focusses.

That's when I feel like a downright idiot. It's not a good feeling.

The thing that I had apparently thought was another Tribute, literally lying in wait, or a mutt is actually a pack. A _pack,_ now glowing a familiar sea-green. The color of my own Tribute outfit. _The Capitol must have had a good laugh at me just then._ Color heats my cheeks, but I ignore the embarrassment in favor of dragging my newfound supplies closer.

A sword is strapped to the pack as well. _A gift from whatever gods are looking down on me now, I suppose._ A wry smile twists at my mouth. _Or the Gamemakers, for that matter._ Indeed, the entire contents of the bag seem to be geared towards a Tribute from 4- more specifically, _me_. A coil of wire, as well as rope. Perfect for setting snares. An odd-looking baton sort of thing- thin in the center and about the size of one of the rare half-dollar coins I'd occasionally pick up on the streets on the ends. The pieces bread, wrapped in some sort of paper and still warm, are the same loaves that are found in bakeries on our streets, flecked with seaweed, and the long, slender blade is almost exactly like the replicas found in weaponry stores. Except this one is a lot sharper than any model.

A slow smile spreads across my face, and I take the sword in my hand, admiring the weight and heft of it. It's balanced perfectly, and it feels almost like an extension of my hand as I swing it through the air. _I am ready._

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District 1 Tribute**

**8:00 pm**

Aegis and Halliday were the first to master the cycles. Sash had discovered that the walls of light that the bikes trailed behind were lethal by launching an arrow into the emerald-green trail Halliday's cycle left behind. It dissolved on impact. _Do not touch the walls._ I silently thank whoever had written the note- Azer, most likely, judging by the elegant curls of the letters- for the warning. If it weren't for that, at one of us would probably be dead by now.

Soon after we'd all mounted our respective modes of transportation, the two of them had shot off, quicker than a rocket, and begun playing one of the most dangerous games of cat and mouse in history. After Athena had nearly yelled herself hoarse that the two of them would end up killing each other if they kept going, Halliday found the controls that manipulated the light wall. Aegis located a setting that made his trail go rainbow, which he refused to turn off for a good five minutes, insisting that he needed to drive all the way around the spiral, shooting death rainbows out of his bike. I find myself watching his antics with what must be the dopiest smile in all of Panem spread across my face. Athena elbows me in the ribs.

"You're in deep, Thames," she laughs. I frown at her, and she smirks. "Anyone with eyes can see the way you look at him. It's cute."

_Cute?_

I open my mouth, not quite sure what to say, but determined to defend myself, Athena grips my shoulder, squeezing tightly. "Hey," she says, and her gray eyes are soft as she looks at me straight on. "That's not a bad thing."

Then she's gone, jogging off and summoning her own bike to chase down Aegis and his death rainbows. Beside me, Halliday's face is unreadable as she watches the other girl go.

Taking a chance, I reach out and lightly touch her shoulder. She jolts at the contact, initially twisting away from it, going for the knives that she's sheathed across her back. "Woah!" I put my hands up. "Hey, Princess, it's just me."

While her fingers slip from the hilts of her weapons, Halliday doesn't move from her defensive stance. "What do you want."

"Just wanted to make sure you were okay. We _are_ allies remember. I do care about other people, sometimes."

She shakes her head. She's deactivated her helmet, and the green of her eyes seems to flay into me. "I've noticed," is all she says, jerking her chin towards Aegis' dark red bike, speeding back towards us. His light wall is back to normal now, but it sputters out as he slows, swinging off his bike in one fluid motion. It shrinks back into baton form behind him, and he plucks it off the ground with one hand, deactivating his helmet with the other.

"Are we still going hunting?" He's breathless from exhilaration, carding a hand through his hair to get it to lie flat again.

"I don't see why not." Sash comes up behind us, and I nearly jump.

"_Where_ did _you_ come from?" I demand, and Sash rolls his eyes briefly.

"It's called subtly, Venturi, but I doubt you'd know anything about it."

"I'm plenty subtle-"

Athena's eyebrows hit her hairline. "Thames, the sexual tension between you and Aegis is driving us all mad."

Age smirks, and before I have time to react, sweeps over and plants a chase little kiss on my mouth, not holding the contact for long, but enough for my knees to threaten to go out from under me. Perhaps 'chaste' was the wrong word.

"Better?" He rumbles, and Athena peeks through her fingers.

"Are you two done yet?"

Aegis hums. "Possibly."

"Ugh," Athena grumbles. "So, hunting."

"Hunting," Sash agrees. "On foot or on the cycles?"

"On foot," Halliday decides. She hasn't said a word since Aegis arrived. "The light cycles are too loud. You could hear us coming from a mile away, and we don't want that, at least not yet. Besides," she casts a mischievous, sideways glance towards Aegis and I. "It's an exercise in _stealth _and_ subtly."_

"Shut up." I reach out to swat her lightly on the arm. She doesn't seem to have any problem with the touch, this time. Huh.

"Do we need night vision goggles?" Athena jerks her chin towards the Cornucopia. "I can go root around and see if we've found anything."

"We shouldn't have left the horn alone for this long," Sash mutters. Louder, he says, "I don't think we will. If we know what color light we're looking for, we should be able to spot them out fairly quickly."

"What about us?" I tip my head to the side. We've all started to move back towards the Cornucopia, and Athena has somehow found a way to clip her baton to her quiver, within easy reach at all times. "We're different colors too, remember? And the others who're still alive would be stupid not to have taken note of at least one of our colors."

"That's why we have these." Athena emerges from the Cornucopia, a swath of black slung over an arm. She holds one out. Sash takes one, shaking it out.

"A cloak?" He raises an eyebrow. "Really? That's dramatic."

"I don't judge the Gamemaker's style." Athena slips on her own, before handing the rest of us ours. "Halliday, you got that Thorne guy pretty good, let's look for him. Anyone else we find along the way is fair game."

"I want to kill Thorne," Halliday announces. Her eyes are bright beneath the hood of her cloak. "You all got your own glory during the Bloodbath. It's my turn."

Aegis frowns, shifting from foot to foot beside me. I elbow him in the ribs. "You got _three,"_ I remind him in a harsh whisper. "That's enough for now. You'll get your chance again."

Halliday doesn't even glance at us as she slides her arms through her cloak and pulls the hood up over her head. With the only real light that comes from our suits and weapons are gone, it's dark now, and I can barely make out the shape of Sash, now perched atop the Cornucopia. I squint at him, even though he can't see my expression in the dim lighting. "Sash, what're you doing?" There's a soft, purple glint from his bow, gleaming in his hand, and with the band of violet light that's disconnected from the rest, he has an arrow drawn.

"Sash!" I step towards him. The silhouette of his head swivels towards me, but the rest of his body is still as a statue. "What're you doing up there?"

"We shouldn't have left the supplies alone when we went to test out the light cycles," he answers. "One of us needs to stay behind to watch the Cornucopia. It's better if it's me since I'm one of the archers. If anyone even gets close, I'll shoot them. Plus," he jerks his head towards Athena. "I doubt she'll want to sit this one out."

I follow his gaze. Indeed, Athena's bobbing up and down, bow in hand. She has a few knives strapped across her hips, the glow of their hilts nearly invisible beneath the black fabric of her mantle. "You're sure?"

A nod. "I'm sure. Now go. We don't have long before the death toll comes in. We should all be together when that comes on- in case something happened that we didn't catch."

I dip my head in return. Despite the fact that we'd previously decided that we didn't want to have a leader of the Pack, Sash fits into the role quite well. None of us seem to have anything against the guy, so there shouldn't be too much conflict.

Rejoining the group, I pull my own hood over my head. "Let's go. We should be back before the death report starts."

The four of us move off as a group, towards the forest. The trees are massive, and even though they _do_ look a bit ridiculous, sort of like glow sticks, they're trees and they supply wood. Glowing wood, that turns the fire all sorts of strange colors. I didn't know fire could turn hot pink.

It's not that hard to find him. The trail of blood he's left behind, staining the ground, and darkening the already dim lights of the Arena floor is easy to follow. The forest thickens as we walk through it, and the lights from the trees seem to get harsher and colder.

Athena shivers beside me, but her grip on her bow doesn't loosen. My own, vice-like grasp on my spear doesn't waver.

The kill is easy, in the end. The trail of his blood leads us right to him. He's braced with his back against a tree, face contorted in pain as he struggles to his feet. Scratches already line his face, as if a branch was whipped across it. Multiple times. He must've tried to climb the tree, but couldn't, with his leg, and fallen.

Aegis steps into the small clearing first. Sword drawn, pulling his hood down. Halliday is quick to follow, drawing her knives with a metallic _shink._ I step around, positioning myself on Aegis' other side, and Athena brings up the rear, an arrow loaded into her bow.

The 12 boy's eyes flick from my spear to Aegis' sword to Halliday's knives, finally settling on the arrowhead of Athena's bow.

"Don't move." I level my spear at him. "Or this goes through your throat. before you can blink."

"You're going to kill me anyway." His voice is astonishingly level for someone with four weapons aimed at his heart, throat, stomach, and head. "There's not much use in running." His eyes haven't stopped roving over the four of us. Every muscle in my body tenses, ready for a fight.

Without warning, he explodes into movement. Shoving between Aegis and I, flinging an arm out as if to ward off Athena.

He makes it a grand total of five steps before Halliday leaps on him, taking him to the ground and kicking him viciously in the leg, eliciting a scream. "We told you not to run," she tuts. Thorne thrashes beneath her, but he's smaller, and she's stronger. "Goodbye, Thorne Raven," Halliday says coldly. She raises her dagger, the inlaid patterns on its handle glowing green, and it finds a new home buried hilt deep in his heart.

o0o

**Lauren Silver (18) District 3 Tribute**

**9:00 pm**

The Capitol anthem is still loud in my ears as its symbol fades above us. The sky remains dark for a moment, and I can only imagine what the people back home and in the rest of the Districts are seeing. My heart twists at the thought of Lancia, or the young boy from 7, brutally ripped in half by that mutt. Beside me, Danielle's face is also turned towards the sky. I only know it's her because of the brilliant forest green of her suit- we've all put our visors down in hopes that they'll provide some sort of protection from the unnatural white mist.

The first image- a simple headshot- to appear in the sky is my own District partner. I fight hard to blink back the tears that begin to build in my eyes. Even with my face hidden from the Capitol, it won't be hard to tell that I'm crying if I start. I can't afford to appear weak.

Harold is dead. His childlike amazement as he stared out the window, the eager light in his eyes when Jolt said he had something important to show us- all gone. He's dead. Gone. Six-feet under.

I know about death. I've seen it before, I've been to my share of funerals and graveyards to honor the dead, but here, it somehow feels so much more _real._ Real, because his death could have been prevented. There's not anything any of us could do about sickness or an infection from a wound none of our doctors had the medicine to treat.

Harold didn't have to die here.

Didn't have to die now.

I swallow past the heated wires that are digging into the inside of my throat and furiously blink away my tears. If Harold's image was first, that means both Tributes from 1 and 2 are both alive. Unsurprising, given what I've seen of the four of them.

After Harold comes the girl from 4. That startles me. I would have thought that the Careers would have come around at some point and invited her to join the Career Pack. She seemed nice and skilled enough when I happened to glance in her direction in the Training Center. She'd mostly been working at survival stations, and I'd assumed the leader of the Pack and decided that they'd need someone who actually knew something about the wilderness. Apparently not. With this exception, most of the Careers usually make it through the first day at least.

Then it's Lancia. I guess that the Wolfchild, who caused so much commotion in the lunchroom the first day of training made it out alive. Something hot twists in my stomach, and I have to agree with the feeling. Wrong as it is, I wish the Careers _had_ killed him. After hearing about the way he ripped Lancia's throat out… he needs to go. I suppose it's a bit of a surprise that her District partner, Phoenix- he'd called himself Killian, though, during the interviews, hadn't he? Confusing- got out of there with his life, but what do I know?

Danielle's District partner flashes across the sky. She shows no visible reaction, and I wonder if any of my allies are thankful for the helmets that obscure their facial features. Next is the girl from 8, the rockstar's District partner. He'd allied with the Careers if I remember correctly, and it had come as quite a shock when he'd taken up sniper duty from his position against the Cornucopia during the Bloodbath. From 9… Scythe.

Danielle makes a small, surprised sound. "I wasn't expecting her to go down this early."

I hadn't either. She seemed like a fighter, that girl, and everyone knows she's the Head Gamemaker's daughter. Surely, Valkyrie could have done something to save her?

"These Hunger Games are nothing like anyone could have ever expected." Aveline leans back on her hands.

The pair from 10 is next to glimmer in the sky of a number of heartbeats before fading away. I didn't know either of them particularly well, but there's only one member of that massive alliance that seemed to have been formed.

Mic Klaus' image appears, and my heart sinks.

"Well," Nat says in a muffled voice, "There went that massive alliance that we had hoped would make it."

"I really had hoped they would. And not only for our benef-" Aveline trails off, letting out a soft, choked noise. "_Oh._ Oh, _no…" _

"Aveline?" Nat scrambles over to our ally. "Aveline? What's wrong?"

"_Thorne,"_ she says, and even as his name leaves her lips, his face appears across the sky. "He must have been the tenth cannon. The Careers-" her voice trembles, and she cuts herself off sharply, shaking her head. "I really thought he would make it."

Danielle wordlessly reaches across and starts to rub gentle circles on Aveline's back. The other girl tucks her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs, and starts to rock back and forth. Thorne's face finally begins to fade from the sky, replaced by the Capitol seal and the anthem blares out one more time before everything goes dark again.

"I wanted him to make it," Aveline whispers. "He was kind to me, back in the Capitol. He showed me card tricks and had said that he thought I'd get out of this alive. He believed in me, and now he's _dead._"

"We believe in you, Ave-" Natalia starts, before stopping. It's not the same. We all know that. If anything had blossomed between them those few days we'd stayed together in the Capitol, it has wilted and died now, and even the smallest flowers can have deep roots.

"She needs time to heal," I murmur to her, and Natalia bobs her head in a small nod.

"Come on, Aveline." Danielle stands up but keeps her hand on Aveline's back. A tether. Something to ground her. "Let's get back under the tarp. We should sleep soon. We're going to need to be refreshed in the morning, so we can move out."

She offers her other hand, and Aveline gratefully takes it, standing on wobbly legs and following Nat and Danielle back under the tarp. "I didn't see the hovercraft," she breathes. "I didn't see them come and take his body away." Her head jerks up. "There _was_ a body to take away, right? _Right?"_

"I'm sure there was," Danielle offers. "We were trying to figure out the baton motorcycle things, remember?"

The batons had been in the canisters that had fallen from the sky, along with a note from Jolt, explaining how they worked and how to activate them. We'd spent the next few hours zipping through the forest, the weird trails of light following us through the trees.

"I should've-" Aveline's voice cracks, and she sinks to her knees beneath the tarp. "I should've-"

"What would you have been able to do?" Danielle asks gently. "You're unarmed, Ave, and there are five armed Careers. You only would have gotten yourself killed as well, and from what you've said, Thorne wouldn't want that. Right?"

"R-right."

"You can honor him by staying alive as long as you can, and in order to do that, right now you need to sleep," Danielle says firmly. "We'll have to rely on body heat to keep each other warm, and hope the night isn't too cold. We don't have any easy way to start a fire anyways, and I don't think I have the energy to even rub two sticks together."

Aveline nods, curling onto her side. Natalia wraps an arm around her. Danielle looks at the two girls, then back to me.

"I'll take the first watch." I toss her the pack. "Use it as a pillow. If something happens to me, I'll scream."

o0o

**Mikail Drakil (18) District 4 Tribute)**

**10:00 pm**

The death recaps were to be as expected. That massive alliance of Tributes that I had pegged as Bloodbaths from the very beginning had indeed died, along with the boy from 12. His death had come out of the blue somewhat, but I have to thank whoever killed him, as his cannon was what made me stumble over this pack of supplies I now have.

Currently, I'm chewing my way through the second roll of ten- _ten!_\- and intend to save and ration the rest for the next few days. I purified the water I'd found in the pack with some iodine that was in there as well, even though it probably wasn't poisoned. It never hurts to check.

It's been 30, 45 minutes since the recap, and I should be getting to bed soon. But there are a few things I need to do first. With a small groan, I force myself to my feet, ignoring the fatigue in my legs from the run here and the laps around the house as I'd explored every single room, not in as much detail as I'd have liked, but enough for me to be able to know where all the bedrooms, possible entrance routes and every single escape route lies.

Every _single_ entrance point has to be rigged with some sort of trap. I don't have nearly enough supplies for that, but at the front doors, the balcony doors, a few of the main windows and the rooftop entrance need to be protected.

Within half an hour, I've placed snares and another one outside the door to the room where I'll be setting up for the night. The sword has no sheath, so I'm either going to continually carry it, or just have to strap it back to the pack, where anyone could seal it. I could possibly find a way to sheath it bare across my back alongside the disk, I'm sure it's possible. Reaching back with my right hand experimentally, I find the harness that keeps the disc connected to my suit. With my other hand, I guide the sword towards the harness, keeping my right hand on the flat of the blade. To my surprise and delight, the sword seems to instinctively find a slot in the harness and slips right through. _Perfect._

Even with a weapon, which will add to my initial fear factor, actual practice with the sword will do me no small amount of good. Intellect can get me quite far, yes, but there's no way that I could beat a trained Career. They'd run me through before I'd have a chance to open my mouth.

I study the blade, tossing it lightly from hand to hand. Slash it delicately at the air with a novice-like apprehension that makes me cringe. As I do so, the reflection of cool blue light dances easily within the polished steel. The handle of this sword is bound with black leather, the hilt decorated yet understated, and the blade is long. I don't know anything about this sword- I don't know what it's called, or if I'm supposed to give it a name, or how to use it besides stabbing someone somewhere important.

I'm not practiced in swordplay, but if I show the Capitol that I'm willing to learn or teach myself, that might get me a Sponsor gift. Maybe the pack that's leaned up against the far wall was a Gift, but I highly doubt it. It looks exactly like a pack that you'd find by the Cornucopia, and I doubt someone would send me this much stuff so early in the Games.

Learning swordplay… I've watched the trainers in the great room in the basement of the Training Center. Seen the intricate footwork and dance of steel that sword fighting requires. I may be able to clumsily replicate some of the steps with a large amount of practice, but if someone like Aegis Harlow or Halliday Frost found me? They are easily the most dangerous melee members of the Career Pack, with Sash and Athena picking off easy targets from a long distance. Thames Venturi is their wildcard, with his strong, precise throws and ability with a sword in his hand. I need to stay clear of them unless absolutely necessary.

But others… the alliance of four girls is just as bad off as I am. Even though there are more of them, they're equally as inexperienced with weaponry, and they probably don't have everything I do. I'm smarter than them, that's for sure. Call me arrogant, but it's just facts.

For now, though, I need to sort through supplies. Sleep will be meaningless, at least for tonight, when I'm still running on the rush of not only escaping the Bloodbath, but also this new surprise that I stumbled upon. Quite literally.

I re-wrap the bread in its paper and store it alongside the little bit of rope and wire I have left. The sword comes with me, still strapped to my back. I stop at the baton and a slip of paper I hadn't noticed before. Written in Coral's distinctive handwriting. Instructions. How to jump, how this thing called a light cycle will supposedly form beneath me. How to drive it. A note is tacked into the bottom: _Be careful with the trails it leaves behind, though. Don't vaporize anything you care too much about. Including yourself. Don't forget the visor. _

I squint. Seems like it's worth a shot. If this works, I'll be impressed. The snares are disabled and back up again in a matter of minutes as I descend the ramps and head out the main doors.

The lit road stretches before me. Endless. Full of possibilities, if I'm only daring enough to explore them. I reach back, mindful of the disc and sword, and press that small button on the back of my neck.

Run, jump, pull. Doesn't seem too complicated.

Turns out, it isn't.

I can feel a rare smile splitting my face from ear to ear as wind rushes past me.

_This. _

This changes _everything._

o0o

**15th: Thorne Raven (17) District 12 Tribute (Submitted by **_**ShippingGoddess56)**_** Killed by a knife through the heart, courtesy of Halliday Frost. Well, Thorne, it was really fun writing you, and I got to learn how to do some magical card tricks while I was at it. Learn something new every day, huh? You were really, really fun to write, and I'm not sure I'm ever going to get another Tribute quite like you, a magician and street-smart sorta guy that you are. I was sorry to see you go, but well. These are the Hunger Games, and with that leg wound, you weren't going to make it far. Rest in peace, Thorne Raven. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**o0o**

**Alliances:**

_**We're Wide Awake Now (Careers): **_**Thames Venturi (D1M), Halliday Frost (D1F), Aegis Harlow (D2M), and Athena Sheir (D2F), and Sash Radcliffe (D8M)**

_**Touching The Stars: **_**Lauren Silver (D3F), Danielle Oakwood (D8F), Natalia Oakly (D11F), and Aveline Wren (D12F)**

_**Among The Hidden (Loners, for now):**_** Mikail Drakil (D4M), Asher Foster (D5M), Ambrose Volta (D5F), Phoenix/Killian Doppelmen (D6M), and Jordan Wheaton (D9M)**

**o0o**

**A/N: Well, there was the first night in the Arena, along with the death of Thorne Raven! Thanks to those who got their votes in on the poll! Double PoVs will be happening throughout every chapter now, for future reference, kind of like I did with both the Bloodbath and Parade. What did you guys think about the light cycles? And yeah, those were also taken directly from Tron. They were probably one of my favorite things about the Arena, maybe even more than FANG. I've watched the movie waaay too many times now, just to get some detail and all that so I can actually write some of this. Not that I'm complaining!**

**For reference on where everyone is: the Careers are with the Cornucopia, Killian/Phoenix is in the city part of the map, as is Mikail, but they're on opposite sides of the place, for now, Lauren and her alliance are in the forest along with an unseen Asher, and Ambrose. I'll see you all again next week with the next chapter, Arena day 2 with a decent death count. Keep a lookout for that, and stay safe in the meantime!**

**Now that the first day is done, I'd love to see predictions for the final 8! 10 points towards the Arena for those who do, and Sponsor prices have begun to rise! I cannot stress this enough, your Tribute needs stuff to survive, so help them out and don't make me write that scene that we all hate to read where someone starves to death or dies of dehydration.**

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever **_**in your favor!**

**~SetFires (Vixen)**


	25. My Appetite's Insatiable

_"If you could only see the beast you've made of me_

_I've held it in but now it seems you've set it running free _

_Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart_

_Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart…"_

_~Howl (Florence and the Machine)_

o0o

**Asher Foster (17) District Five Tribute**

**6:00 am**

I wake with what is usually the rising of the sun back in 5, snapping awake and sitting bolt upright in my sleeping bag. Years of living off the streets of 5 have taught me how to emerge from sleep into complete awareness in the blink of an eye. If there is an early morning raid or scuffle, there would be no time for me to blink the sleep out of my eyes. Awake and alert, I slip out of the sleeping bag and roll it up. My stomach rumbles furiously at me and I wince, recalling the fact that I hadn't eaten yesterday, still reeling from Lancia Carerra's death. Her pack had contained a pound of dried jerky, which I am grateful for. It doesn't seem like this place will relinquish anything edible. The sleeping roll goes back into the pack, and I pull out some of the jerky, ripping off a strip of it and chewing contentedly. Even in the Arena, the food is amazing, and everything must have been stocked with the best the Capitol could find.

I eat sparingly, taking care to keep a handle on my appetite. I don't know if I'll find anything else to eat for who knows how long, and this needs to last as long as possible. I'll go hunting for other Tributes soon. Surely _someone_ other than the Careers has to have picked up a weapon, and if I go about attacking them the right way, I can bring them down and get my hands on it. _And then a whole lot of Careers are going to die._

Or someone could just Sponsor me with something, but I highly doubt that's going to happen. As much as I've tried to play the part the Capitol wants me to, plus the fact that I killed someone at the Bloodbath, news must have leaked about what's happened at the Training Center. How out of control people must have said I was. Who would want to Sponsor a Tribute like me? No, out here, I have to be all alone. I can't depend on anyone else to help me- not the Capitol, not my fellow Tributes, who saw that scene in the lunchroom first hand.

I shudder to think of it.

But still. A knife would be nice. Or some brass knuckles. Maybe even a sword, if someone's feeling generous.

I grit my teeth. _I need to stop with this wishful thinking. It will get me nowhere, and in this environment, I always have to be somewhere. Either I have to make myself interesting, or the Capitol will. _

… maybe?

I bury my head in my hands with a groan and stuff my food back into my pack. It's time to move out of this area- the forest can't possibly be good, and this mist has to do something bad to a person. The upside though, is that the trees are so close together that the terrifying metal beast we'd seen earlier at the Cornucopia won't be able to make it through here. In the woods, we're safe, from that mutt at the very least. And with the lethality of that thing, I'm not sure any other mutts will be _needed_ in this Arena.

Then again, the Gamemakers have always been sadistic bastards and bitches. Honestly.

Swinging my bag up over my shoulders I square my shoulders. If there's nothing else going on right now, it's a safe bet that my face is all over every screen in Panem. I seriously doubt anyone else is up this early. _The early bird catches the worm, huh?_ I tilt my head to the side and give the viewers a yawn for effect before smiling. Slowly, and with a mouthful of teeth. _I will never be the prey. Not again. I have spent too much of my life on the run, and now it is time for the hunted to become the hunter._

I'm not one to take a leisurely stroll through the forest and embrace the psithurism of the trees in the breeze.

Now, it's time to hunt.

I saw at least five others run into the forest before me- the alliance of all girls and the boy from 12, although he's dead now, probably killed by the Careers. _Only five of us then._

Strictly speaking, the alliance has the advantage. They probably have more supplies, they definitely have more people, and it goes without question that the odds of a four against one fight aren't in my favor. I don't even have a weapon, save for my own two hands.

I shoot a glance towards the dark frontier that is the sky. A weapon would be _really, really _nice right about now.

Maybe I do have Sponsors, and Stardust is just holding them back. She _is_ the one who has the final say in things like this, and I wouldn't be surprised if she let me die out of spite. It doesn't seem like a very Stardust thing to do, though, but she seemed pretty pissed off as I left the hovercraft that brought us here. Who knows. If- no, not if, _when_\- I win this, I should probably mend ties with her. Given that she'll be my fellow Mentor and all.

I'm just about to turn back towards the woods when I see it. Drifting down, light and easy as a feather in the wind.

The parachute is bright in the mist and dim lighting of the forest, but the fire orange color is unmistakable as it floats down out of the sky. _A Sponsor gift._

I try to contain my glee as I snatch it out of the air, untying the parachute and eagerly unwrapping whatever is inside the box.

It's an effort, a true effort, to keep the laughter bubbling up inside my chest contained to a soft chuckle. So Stardust _is_ looking out for me. It's good to know that someone cares.

I slide the gloves onto my hands, flexing my fingers, and the _claws_ slip out, beautiful and long and iron. _Wolf claws, for their human child. _Their edges glint in the unnatural light of the Arena, but it's clear that they are sharp, sharper than anything.

This right here, this is the game-changer.

I slip my pack beneath a tree root, shoving rotting leaves and general decay of the forest floor over it. The orange glow is barely noticeable now. I shouldn't carry it with me, in retrospect, if I'm going after four targets. If I'm taken down, they might get the claws- my heart tugs and recoils at the thought of someone _else_ using these beauties, someone _else_ slashing their hand along Thames Venturi's throat- but they won't get anything else I've stocked up. _If I don't get it, then no one does._

It's tempting to pull out the baton-that-doubles-as-a-fucking-cool-cycle-thingy, but I would make too much noise. Besides, these trees would be a _bitch_ to navigate, good gravy. On foot it is.

The claws now put me at a distinct advantage over any melee weapon they would use against me. None of them are trained, and even if they were, the sword is a weapon to be held _in _the hand. These… I flex my hand, and the harsh cerulean light runs sharp talons over the iron at my fingertips. These are, by all means, _part_ of my hand.

Determination slips through my bloodstream and curls around my heart, purring contentedly as I set off into the trees, claws glinting.

_The prey has become the predator, and before I'm done here, the forest will run red._

o0o

**Halliday Frost (18) District One Tribute**

**7:30 am**

I'm still running on the adrenaline and slight high from killing Thorne the next morning. I was awake earlier than any of the other Careers, save for Aegis, who had taken the morning guard shift. He's sitting atop the Cornucopia, swinging his legs back and forth. He'd almost be childlike, humming a quiet tune under his breath, if it weren't for the broadsword sheathed across his back and the various weapons strapped around his waist. He's turning his disc over and over in his hands, and his midnight eyes are bright with the satisfaction of discovery. I pull myself up over the lip of the horn and sit next to him. "What'd you find?"

Aegis casts me a sly, sideways look. "Wait till the rest of the Pack is up, Princess."

I scowl at him. "_Don't_ call me that. Thames is bad enough, so don't you start."

Aegis mutters something that sounds like _mature,_ under his breath.

"Oi." I reach out and poke him in the ribs. Hard. "Says the person who set his trail of death to _rainbows, _before making a joke about _death farts. _Mature my _ass._"

He narrows his eyes at me, but says nothing else, returning his attention back to the disc in his lap. Fine then. I'll find some other way to amuse myself.

Sliding off the horn, I duck inside and proceed to trip over Athena. Conveniently landing on top of Thames, who sits up ramrod straight and bumps into Sash. Oops.

"I'm _awake," _the rockstar grumbles and slowly rolls into a sitting position.

"What's going on?" Thames demands. Athena is a bit slower on the uptake, shoving her head back under the other sleeping roll she had been using as a pillow.

"Your boyfriend discovered something." I jerk my chin towards the outside of the horn. "He's waiting outside."

"He's not-" Thames starts, but Sash pins him with a halfway ferocious, halfway adorable glare, like a small kitten with its fur fluffed out and claws unsheathed. "Fine." He grabs his spear from where it rested in easy reach of his selected sleeping spot and stepping over Athena and out into the Arena.

Sash follows after stretching his arms up over his head, loosing a yawn larger than a ten-ton elephant. He's still blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he slips into the Arena, strapping his quiver across his chest.

"What was that for?" Athena asks sleepily, already reaching for her own bow.

"Aegis has something to show us," I answer quickly. "And he said he wouldn't tell until the rest of you were up."

She blinks a few times, processing the information. "So you had to barge right in here and wake us all up."

I bristle. "You would have done the same thing!"

"Maybe," she agrees through a yawn. "Doesn't matter now, we're all up, aren't we? Let's see what Aegis has to say." she squirms out of her sleeping bag, and I grit my teeth as she eels her way out from in between two crates, planting her bow in order to string it, before vanishing from sight.

I stomp down on the irritation that's bubbling up in my throat and follow the rest of my alliance, walking around the side of the Cornucopia. Aegis hops down to stand beside me.

The rest of our alliance forms a sort of semicircle around us, Sash leaning against the Cornucopia and Athena using her bow like a walking stick. Thames is running his hands over his spear in such a way that I start mentally praying for any young children watching this live right now.

"Stop fornicating with your _fucking_ spear, Thames, I swear to God," Aegis grumbles from beside me.

Thames looks up with a faux innocent expression on his face, hazel eyes glinting in the sunlight as he repeats dryly, "My _fucking spear."_

Aegis buries his head in his hands. "Oh, no. Oh, no, Thames."

"Are you jealous, perhaps?" My District partner purrs, leaning around his spear, batting obscenely long eyelashes at the other boy.

Aegis doesn't say anything, only leers right back.

I turn an incredulous gaze towards Sash, partly because _what the hell_ and mostly because _Dear Lord In Heaven I Do Not Need To Be Seeing This. _

Sash grimaces in response. He doesn't seem like he's going to do much about it though, and Athena still appears to be half asleep. I suppose this is up to me then. God save me.

"Aegis, Thames, _really?" _I scoff and try not to look at the two of them. we're _trying to kill other people, _ now is not the time to be practicing apodyopsis!"

Thames arches an eyebrow, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. "Big words, Princess. Besides, how do you know what apodyopsis even _means?"_

I scowl. "I trained at an academy full of disgusting perverts for over three-quarters of my life, I needed _some_ word to describe what they were doing other than _eye-fucking."_

Aegis barks out a laugh, twirling his sword around in one hand. "Fair enough. I guess now that everyone's awake, you want me to show you what I found while sitting on top of the back of a great, black beast, keeping watch over my faithful companions who shall keep me from harm and-"

"Just _tell_ us already," Sash interrupts, drawing chuckles from the rest of us.

Aegis, unperturbed that his monologue has been cut short, grins. It lights up his whole face, making his eyes sparkle, and I can't help but be reminded of Maximus back home, with his brilliant smile and eyes like gemstones. Maximus, who is beautiful and strong and decidedly not interested in someone like me.

Aegis vanishes around the side of the Cornucopia, ducking back inside to get something, and my eyes wander to Thames. _What does he have that I don't?_ Biological differences aside, we're not so different. Not really. _So why can't he love me?_

Jordan says he does. Said it before the whole Capitol, and earned their hearts and sympathy and bets all in one go. _It's a lie, _a voice whispers in the back of my head. _It's a plot, a ploy, and he will only break your heart if you allow him to get too close._

It's true. The voice is right, and I _know_ I can't let my guard down. _Which is why he has to die soon. First. Today._

Resolution settles solidly in the pit of my stomach. Today. We're surely going hunting for other Tributes, and I want to hunt for him. He's alone, without a weapon, and I saw him and a few others run into the trees after the Bloodbath. He didn't pick up a pack. He'll be easy prey, for four people like us.

With that figured out, I turn my attention to Aegis, who's just come back to the circle, holding a loaf of what must be District 2's typical bread in hand. He reaches back and unclips the disc from his back, holding it carefully on the flats of his hands. "This," he says, with an air of superiority, head high and with enough satisfaction that I think he's found the solution to world hunger, "is sharp."

A beat of silence. Two. Then, "It's _sharp._" Thames repeats. Athena drops her head into her hands, and a smile is dancing across Sash's mouth. "It's _sharp,_" Thames repeats, laughter and incredulity and affection all swirling together in his voice. "Good observation there, Age. What's next?" He lets out a melodramatic gasp, widening his eyes. "Are you going to tell me _rain _is _wet?"_

I can't help the grin that spreads across my face as a slight blush creeps across Aegis' cheekbones.

"I'm serious!" He protests. "Look!" He places the loaf of bread on the ground, takes his disc, and begins to slice. "It cuts skin as well." He gestures to a slight rip in one of his gloves.

"So it can be used as a weapon as well as being our tracking devices?" Sash lifts a brow. "Hot damn."

Aegis nods, pride lighting in his eyes.

"Smart," Athena says approvingly. "Both you and whoever made these. Are we the first to figure it out?"

As if on cue, the first parachute appears in the sky. One after another after another, one for each member of our alliance. Aegis grabs mine and hands it to me, before accepting his own from Thames. Athena and Sash have each caught theirs.

Thames is the first to open his, and he unfolds a note that rests atop whatever's inside. "_Congratulations_," he reads. "_You're not as stupid as some apparently think you are_." He looks up at the sky. "Thanks, Azer. You're a real charmer, you know that, right?"

I snort but fall quiet as Thames pulls out another baton looking thing from his container. It looks almost identical to the ones we have that summon the light cycles, but it's pointed on one end and is uniformly round. He squints at it.

"Uh. Another one?"

A second note flutters out of the tube as Thames turns the thing upside down. '_It's a retractable spear, you idiot._'

Thames blinks at the note, then at his second baton, now glowing a metallic gold. "Um."

Aegis leans over to look. "Thames, darling, there's a button right there. I'm pretty sure you want to press it. Holding it _away_ from you."

"Thanks," Thames mutters. Athena bites her lip, obviously trying to keep from laughing. Holding the baton out lengthwise in front of him, Thames presses the button. The baton lengthens into a spear, about five feet long with a wickedly sharp head of what looks to be honed iron.

"That's pretty nice," Sash observes. "Even though you took a while to figure it out." Thames frowns, opening his mouth for a retort, but Sash rolls right over him, saying, "But I have a pretty good idea of what this is gonna be." He points at the package that his parachute had floated down. A long, curved shape was wrapped in a protective silver casing.

"Gee." I walk over, eye the thing up and down. "I have no idea what that could be. None at all. It couldn't be a _bow_, could it?"

The rockstar rolls his eyes and rips into the packaging. He emerges seconds later with a beautiful longbow gripped in his hands, woven bands of glimmering violet shimmering through the gaps between his fingers. Athena's found the same thing- although her bow is shorter, with a sharper curve than Sash's. The two archers put their heads together, talking excitedly and in hushed tones.

Aegis' package is smaller than the rest of ours, but there's a spark of hope in his new-moon night eyes as he unwraps it with one hand. His other has roamed up to his throat as if used to finding something there and only met with bare, summer-tan skin. _His necklace,_ I realize with a jolt. He doesn't have his necklace anymore. Is that what he's hoping his Sponsor Gift is? His lost token?

Aegis pulls out a small bag from the silver wrapping, and his lips purse as he opens it. Apparently not his token, then. Reaching in, he produces a handful of matches, a small bottle labeled _gasoline_, and a lighter. And a decently large bottle of… burn ointment? Is that going to be a thing? Setting other people on fire?

As if he's heard my thoughts, Aegis' dark eyebrows wing up. "So, from the looks of this, and what's left in here," he gestures to the bag, "I can now set things on fire."

"Burning our enemies alive…" Thames looks a bit pale but doesn't balk as he says, "That's an… interesting notion. What do you have, Halliday?"

I look down at the package in my hands. The rest of the Careers have all gotten weapons, of a sort- because Thames does have a point about setting people on fire and burning all our enemies alive. I can only pray that my gift does not disappoint.

The silver wrapping falls to the ground as I tug on the string holding it in place and open the box I find.

Coiled inside, wicked as a snake and dark as midnight, is a whip. The parchment inside, written in Azer's neat, elegant script, reads, _I honestly wasn't quite sure what I was thinking when I allowed this to be put through. Weapon, self-defense tool, torture instrument, how you use it is completely up to you now. Choose well, Halliday._

o0o

**Aveline Wren (16) District Twelve Tribute**

**8:45 am**

I wake with a scream on my lips and Thorne's name on my tongue. Nightmares and gruesome visions had chased me through restless bouts of sleep and into wakefulness throughout the night. My turn at watch hadn't done anything to calm my nerves either- everywhere I looked I'd seen his face, and if I closed my eyes I would see the horrifying possibilities of his demise at the hands of the Careers.

"Aveline?" Lauren sounds concerned above me, and I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, willing myself to _calm the fuck down. _I won't be of any use to my allies in this state. _Pull yourself together. There can only be one Victor, and if you're going to be that one, then there will be a lot more death before you escape this hellhole. _

"I'm fine." I release a breath I didn't know I was holding. "I'm fine. Everything's fine."

Lauren's expression tells me that she knows that I'm clearly _not_ fine, but she leaves it be and offers a hand. I accept it, and she pulls me into a standing position.

"What's for breakfast?" As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. This is the Arena, and by the look of the contents of our pack, we aren't going to be having breakfast for a very long while.

But a grin has broken out over Lauren's beautiful face, and she points over to where Danielle and Natalia are both hunched over something.

I blink owlishly at them, then back at Lauren. "What?"

"Sponsor gifts. They came about half an hour ago."

"For who?"

Lauren smiles even wider. "Does it matter? We have _Sponsors,_ Aveline. People believe in us!"

I let out a long, slow breath. _There are people who are invested in our survival. People believe in us._

Danielle, noticing my glance in her direction, waves us over. Her eyes are alight with pride and a fierce sort of triumph as she hands me a plate- an honest-to-God _plate_\- laden with rice, a buttered roll, and there's a sort of stir fry like concoction atop the rice. It smells heavenly, and I can almost _hear_ the angels singing as I put the first spoonful of rice into my mouth. It's funny how I used to revere food back home, before beginning to take it for granted in the Capitol. Now, back in the wild, the whole meal has a sort of ethereal glow to it.

"This is amazing," Nat murmurs as she sinks her teeth into a cinnamon bun.

Danielle looks up, her own cheeks puffed out to accommodate half a bun in a single bite. She chews, a look akin to ecstasy in her eyes before she swallows. "If you're not going to eat that, I Volunteer as Tribute," she tells me, her voice dead serious. There's a mischievous glint in her brown eyes, though, and despite the darkness that the joke should carry, the three of us join her in laughter.

"It's all yours," I say, and she lunges for it, glee apparent on her pale face. Cinnamon buns, as we had discovered the first day in training, were Danielle's nemesis and elixir all in one. She couldn't turn one down and would do nearly anything to get her hands on one.

I watch her devour the delicacy with some amusement, before turning back to my own meal. This, compared to the dull rations and tesserae of District 12, is a meal fit for kings and queens.

"Don't eat too much," Lauren warns, although the impact of her words is slightly degraded by the fact that she herself has a mouthful of food. "We should ration this. Even if it is better hot."

Danielle looks mournfully down at the pile of cinnamon buns, nestled among wax paper like eggs in a nest. "Yeah," she agrees reluctantly, placing the lid back on their container and handing it to Lauren. "I suppose we should."

"You'll get more tonight," Lauren smiles. "And tomorrow, if you can restrain yourself."

Danielle still looks uncertain, because, oh yeah. _This is the Hunger Games. _We don't even know if we'll survive until tonight, much less tomorrow morning.

This- the meal, the Sponsors, the glimmer of hope we've found while blindly stumbling about in the dark that is our current circumstance, is the only spark we might have to guide us for a good long while.

"Who wants to carry the pack?" Lauren stands, the fully loaded bag in her hands. "I'd ration it, but we only have one bag."

"You should." Danielle stands, brushing herself off, the green light of her suit illuminating her face in a ghostly sort of glow. The lights of the Arena have begun to brighten, and where they are nowhere near as blinding as they were when we were first placed here, they're steadily getting brighter.

Lauren glances around, as if to check for objections. When Natalia and I offer none, she swings the bag over her shoulders. "Alright. We should get moving."

She takes a single step forward.

A rustle in the brush to our right is all the warning we get.

Asher Foster lunges out of the undergrowth, tackling Nat to the ground, teeth bared and metal glinting in the Arena lights. Natalia's scream pierces the forest, before cut short with a terrible gurgling sound. He pushes her limp body aside, and that's her blood glistening on his fingers, on the claws that extend from the horrible gloves on his hands, made of a leather dark as night. He takes a single, threatening step towards us, the muscles in his legs tensing, bunching, ready to pounce. Natalia's cannon punctuates that single movement, and a sob rises up in my throat.

"Run," Lauren breathes. "Run, run, run, come on, let's go!" She grabs my hand and starts dragging me through the trees.

"Nat," I breathe, and that's Danielle running beside us, tears streaming down her face even as she charges through the forest.

"I know." Lauren drags me left and Danielle goes right. Asher's still somewhere behind us, Natalia's dead body even further back, but there's no time for that.

"We need to keep moving." Danielle's rejoined us again, breathing hard. "Come on, Aveline, _hurry!"_

My feet slip outwards on the slick surface of whatever the Arena ground is made of- a flat, onyx material that siphons the light out of everything, eats it up, and swallows it whole. The light cycles will be of no use here, not in such close quarters. It's my body I have to rely on- my body, which is still weak and frail. Despite the slight weight I've gained from the last week spent in the Capitol, seven days cannot compete with the better part of sixteen years of one who is inured to poverty and malnourishment.

The air, which has suddenly turned frigid, shocks my throat and my lungs as I inhale deeper, faster. Sucking air in through my nose, my mouth, trying to keep each one even, paced, just as Amber taught me. My heart jack-knives against my chest, frantically trying to beat its way straight out of my ribcage, all or nothing. Fail, and my entire body pays the price, run, and the damage is limited mostly to my shins and knees where the strange plants whip against my skin with sharp twigs and tree roots seem to explode out of the formerly smooth ground to catch me off my guard.

I stumble over one, careening into Lauren, who shoves me upright with a strong hand on my back, propelling me forward. _"Run, Aveline,"_ she bellows, her voice thunderous and powerful in my ear. My breaths have become shorter, faster, panicked, and uneven. With each footfall, a jarring pain shoots ankle to knee, ankle to knee. _Shit._

_I have to keep running. _My lungs burn, and my legs are leaden, but I have to _keep moving._ I don't know if Asher is still out there, chasing us, but if he is, he'll be on us- be on me- if I so much as slow to catch my breath.

I don't know how long we race through the trees, splitting and regrouping, dodging trees and underbrush.

We eventually come to a halt in a wholly different clearing, breathing hard, Lauren putting her hands behind her head, chest heaving. "You think we lost him?"

Danielle leans heavily against a tree, breaths rasping in her throat. "I hope so. I don't think I can go much further."

I walk over to the edge of the clearing. Just through the trees, I can make out a flat expanse of black, stretching for as far as the eye can see, and, there, in the middle- that's the Cornucopia. Dread curls low in my stomach as I scan the immediate area for the Careers. A single shape is barely visible atop the Cornucopia, glowing a pale shade of gray. _Athena._

But there is no sign of gold or red or emerald green lurking around, and the way the girl is standing, even from here, it's clear that she's acting as a lookout.

Where her other four companions are, I don't know, but they're on the hunt.

"We're close to the edge of the forest," I report, turning away from the Cornucopia. "I can see the horn, and the Careers are gone. We need to be careful."

Danielle's whole body seems to go taut, a muscle in her jaw feathering, and she pushes away from the trunk of the tree, mouth open as she starts to say something.

And that's when Thames Venturi descends from the tree like an avenging angel from heaven, lands squarely on Danielle's shoulders, smoothly drives her to the ground, and plunges his spear into her back.

o0o

**Halliday Frost (18) District Five Tribute**

**9:30 am**

Thames' third kill comes from him falling out of a tree. _Falling. Out of a tree._

It wasn't hard to track the three girls on their route through the forest- they were making enough noise and breathing loudly enough that Sash proclaimed he could shoot them in the dark. When they'd come to a halt in the clearing, Aegis wasted no time in organizing the rest of us. He'd take the eastern side of the clearing, closest to the Cornucopia so that he could drive them towards Athena if need be. Sash, obscured in the growth on the southern side, would keep an eye out for Asher, and hopefully shoot him dead if he showed any trace. I would take the western side, acting as an impassable, unyielding barrier that none of the three remaining girls could pass, and Thames was up a tree on the western angle, ready for an ambush. Thames was up the tree faster than any of us could say _squirrel_, and the rest of us wasted no time getting to our planned positions.

Aveline Wren just returned from scouting, saying that they need to be on their guard. If we're going to move, we need to do it now, but before I can give any sort of signal- before any of us can, Thames falls out of the tree.

Falls out of the _god-damn tree._ He's lucky enough to land right on top of Danielle Oakwood, and he wastes no time in putting his newfound Sponsor gift through her back.

Aveline screams, stumbling back a step or two. Lauren's eyes are wide, revulsion and horror written across her face.

Thames swings off Danielle's limp body, the cannon blast deafening in the sudden quiet. "Did you know," he purrs, voice bedroom-soft, "that there's a place on a man's back where you can sever his spine and pierce his heart, with one strike?" He casts a disinterested glance at the corpse behind him. "Or, perhaps, a place on a girl's back, where one can kill her with a single blow."

"You _monster," _Lauren breathes, and fury now ripples across her defined features. I can almost make out the tip of Sash's arrow, aimed with lethal accuracy.. It is no arrow of Cupid that waits to pierce that girl's heart, although some do say that death has always been kinder than love. The barbed tip does not waver. Sash makes no move to release it, though. He holds that mighty longbow steady and taut and does not fire. He understands the power of a spectacle better than any of us- and a spectacle before a slaughter is not to be turned down. Not when it could mean the difference between a day of life and a shallow grave back in your home District.

Thames had gone deathly still as soon as the words had left Aveline's lips. Now, his posture has eased, and when he speaks again, his voice is casual. Too casual, to be anything but a threat. "I've been called many things, Aveline, but _monster _is a first." He throws a roguish wink at her, and I can nearly hear the groan as Sash draws his bow back even farther. "Even for me."

Lauren steps forward, puts herself between Aveline and Thames. "Back off, Thames." She snaps, but her hands are shaking by her sides, where she's balled them into fists by her sides. "You've already killed her, isn't your bloodlust quenched?" Her voice trembles as she mentions Danielle, but she keeps her head high. To her credit, she's demonstrating quite a lot of courage. On the other hand, she's also demonstrating quite a lot of stupidity. She's wide open for attack, and it would be so, so easy for Thames to _lunge_, spear out, and-

Thames moves. He's a blur of gold and light hair, spear leveled directly at Lauren's heart.

_"Don't you touch her!" _Aveline's in movement, pink and gold clashing and tumbling to the ground. Sash bursts out of hiding, his great longbow loaded, but there's no way he can get a clear shot off. Not without running the risk of hitting Thames, and with all that power behind the shot, and at such short range… it's a risk we can't take.

Over and over they roll, and Aegis is in the clearing, broadsword drawn, the red of his suit glinting off the honed blade like blood. None of us dare to dive into the fray as Lauren pounces on top of the both of them- if we do, we risk one of them getting their hands on a weapon, and then nothing good will come of anything.

Thames lets out a harsh grunt as Lauren drives an elbow into his gut, and he barely evades Aveline's blow, aimed for his temple. The two girls have him pinned beneath them, and any other situation, it might be sexual, but Thames does not appear to be aroused, amused, or distracted in any sense. There's a predator's gleam in his eyes, like that of a cornered lion, and his lithe muscles flex beneath the skintight contours of his suit. The three of them separate and come together again, and if I didn't know better, I'd wonder if Thames was fighting two trained opponents. Aveline and Lauren work together seamlessly, matching each other blow for blow, forcing my fellow Career to duck and dodge and weave around them.

If I didn't know better, I'd think this was just a training exercise because no blood has been drawn, and Thames keeps his spear close, retracted.

But I do know better. I know better and can see the gap in their defense. See it at the exact same moment Thames does. Our eyes connect. Lock, and years of training together as occasional sparring partners sizzles into place between us. _To you, to you, to you,_ his hazel eyes say, and then he's in the thick of the fray, and now his spear is out. Spinning, sweeping, and not an ounce of energy wasted.

The world fades out around me, and I focus in on the wicked dance that will eventually end in death that unfolds before me. I can't mess this up- it's four against two if the rest of us will ever be able to get in combat, but for now, everything rests on the representatives of District 1.

Time slows down, and the path this waltz of lethality unfolds before me. I know where Thames will spin before he moves, I know how Aveline will trip. I can see how she'll careen into Lauren, sending the two stumbling apart, and Aveline herself will be driven back by the point of Thames' spear.

Right to me.

"_Halliday!" _Thames' breathless shout brings me back, out of the choreography of the fight and into the present, where Aveline is staggering back, efficiently separated from her stronger ally.

I move forward, knives out, spinning the one in my right hand over- just how Maximus had shown me. Let the weapon fall, then raise, fall, then raise. More for show than anything else, but it looks intimidating on camera, and by the look on Aveline's face, it also looks intimidating up close.

Aveline backs up, fast, but the shaft of Thames' spear slams into her back.

"_Hurry,"_ he barks at me, and Aegis is already moving in on Lauren.

The girl from 12 stares up at me with wide, wide eyes, as I angle my daggers right up against her throat.

It's not hard at all to drag my knives across her throat and send her head tumbling to the ground.

Her body jerks once, twice, three times as it falls to the ground. Then it goes still. Her cannon fires not a moment later, and Lauren's howl of grief and undiluted rage shakes the very trees of the Arena. Her cry of fury is quickly followed by a shriek of agony, though, and Thames and I whirl back to see one of Sash's arrows embedded fletching deep in the girl's shoulder. Aegis stands a few yards away, sword out, and stained with her blood.

I read her movement and intentions a second too late.

The warning leaves Thames' lips not a heartbeat after. "Age, _move!"_

Lauren Silver's light cycle forms beneath her,. She revs the engines and jolts into motion. Blood streams from various cuts on her arms and legs, varying in severity as she begins to move.

Aegis throws himself to the side, rolling, rolling out of the way, barely avoiding getting crushed by Aveline's light cycle as she roars past. He's on his feet again in an instant, but it's too late. Lauren's already speeding across the stretch of flat ground that leads from the Cornucopia out to the city beyond. The _twang_ of a bow is audible, even from here, but the arrow doesn't find its mark, and Lauren makes her escape.

None of us speak on our way back to the Cornucopia. Danielle didn't have any supplies in her, so we'd left her body where she'd fallen.

The silence lasts for the span of three heartbeats once we reach the horn. Irritation, annoyance, and general _fuck-the-worlds_ have been building up inside me all day. I need an outlet- and the perfect one is standing right next to me. Athena makes it five steps in our direction before I whirl on him.

"You let her get away," I snap. Aegis' jaw is set, but he makes no move to argue. "She went right past you, and you didn't do a single _god-damn thing about it."_

"Lauren was on her light cycle, Halliday." Sash comes over, his brown eyes full of worry and concern. He places himself between me and Aegis- smart, but also risky. "There wasn't anything he could have done to go after them except chase her on his own cycle, and then where would we be?"

"We'd be standing over one more dead body" I retort. "And be that much closer to taking other, more important threats, off the map."

"Exactly." Aegis steps out from behind Sash, limbs loose and voice easy. Easy enough that it is clearly forced, and, at a closer glance, there is a battle raging behind those starless eyes. "There are other, more important threats out there, that we should worry about taking off the map _first. _Then we can worry about Lauren Silver."

I snarl at him, hand going to my waist, where one of the three knives I have on me is sheathed, and throw every ounce of dominance into my glare. Aegis sends all of his raging right back- enough darkness in his eyes to remind me that there is a gorgon lurking behind that brilliant smile and handsome face, and that said gorgon will not turn me to stone but devour me whole. And savor every last bite.

"We're done for today. We have two kills, and that should satisfy whoever's watching." Aegis unstraps his sword from around his waist. My hands curl into fists by my side at the arrogance in his voice, but I hold my tongue. Aegis' own hand is hovering up by his collarbone again, fingers brushing against bare skin, still searching for a token no longer there. "We'll leave _that_,"he jerks his chin towards the receding trail of silver, "to Killian and Mikail." His blue eyes are hard as he casts a glance over his shoulder, back towards the woods. "Asher Foster is still out there. So is his District partner, and the boy from 9. It's them we need to worry about."

Worry about indeed. But it is not us who should be watching our backs, keeping one eye open in sleep. I made myself a promise, in a room, surrounded by velvet and clad in betrayed white, a comb of sapphires and diamonds. _I will never be heartbroken again. _If there is anything left of that shattered heart, I will not let it show. _They will never see me cry until I break them. _

o0o

**14th: Natalia Oakly (16) District Eleven Female (Submitted by **_**SparrowBirdEliza**_**) Killed by a slit throat, courtesy of Asher Foster. Nat, you were amazingly fun to write and I loved your journey throughout these Games. I regret placing you 14th, because I would have loved to see you go further, but that was what was in your stars, and I am not at the point in a story where I can rewrite them. Not just yet. Rest in peace, Natalia Oakly. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**13th: Danielle Oakwood (17) District Seven Tribute (Submitted by **_**GreyWolf44**_**) Killed by a spear severing her spine and piercing her heart, courtesy of Thames Venturi. You were another beauty to write, Danielle- everyone who's made it past this point has a special place in my heart, including you and darling Nat. You and your cinnamon buns were what got me through this chapter, honestly, because you gave me the excuse to gorge myself on them. Love you to pieces, so sad to see your journey end here. Rest in peace, Danielle Oakwood. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**12th: Aveline Wren (16) District Twelve Tribute (Submitted by **_**thorne98**_**) Killed by decapitation, courtesy of Halliday Frost. Aveline, you fighter you, I originally placed you a bit lower than 12th, but then rearranged the death order and here you are. Just outside the top 10. You were truly a blast to write for, and while your arc doesn't have the steepest curve, you were always one of my favorites. You went down bravely, defending your ally, and Lauren will never forget you, and nor will I, as the first D12F I have ever received. Rest in peace, Aveline Wren. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**o0o**

**Alliances:**

_**We're Wide Awake Now (Careers): **_**Thames Venturi (D1M), Halliday Frost (D1F), Aegis Harlow (D2M), and Athena Sheir (D2F), and Sash Radcliffe (D8M)**

_**Among The Hidden (Loners, for now):**_** Lauren Silver (D3F), Mikail Drakil (D4M), Asher Foster (D5M), Ambrose Volta (D5F), Phoenix/Killian Doppelmen (D6M), and Jordan Wheaton (D9M)**

**o0o**

**A/N: And there we have it for day 2 in the Arena! Another, admittedly spontaneous death to add to the kill count of three, and things are moving on much quicker than I expected them to. Things may be pushed forward a few days, and although these Hunger Games might not be the most, erm, realistic, I do hope they're enrapturing and are keeping you enthralled.**

**Thank you so much for your support and a huge shout-out towards **_**StardusttheKillerQueen**_**, **_**Unravel The World**_**, and **_**ShippingDeity**_** on the group chat for encouraging me to push through this! **

**I apologize for the late update :( I'm scrambling to find time to write between being the DM for two separate D&D parties, and then writing this story on top of all that, and inspiration is hard to come by these days. On the upside, every moment of my 'off time' will now be spent focusing on my SYOTs, even if it isn't this one. A Court of Mist and Ruin, my sequel to Locked and Loaded, is coming out on October 31st- yes, Halloween, that was indeed on purpose- and I'm grinding down to try and get this either done or nearly there by that date. Updates will not be as constant as they were- they could be three days apart or a week. It depends on my level of inspiration and how close I am to a burnout. **

**This was a shorter chapter than usual, and I apologize for that as well. Given the split of where everyone us, PoVs will be a bit scrambled, but I'm trying to get everyone some screen time before they die, yeah? We'll be sure to hear from Ambrose and Jordan in the next two chapters. **

**For reference on where everyone is: the Careers are with the Cornucopia, Killian/Phoenix is in the city part of the map, as is Mikail, but they're still on opposite sides of the place, for now, but a grief-stricken and wounded Lauren has driven over there on her death motorcycle, so shit's gonna happen. Asher, with his scary as fuck gloves, as well as Ambrose, and Jordan are all in the forest together. I don't think I've forgotten anyone, but if I have, I'm dreadfully sorry D:**

**I'll see you all again next week with the next chapter, Arena night 2! I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your day/night, stay safe out there, and all my love goes with you!**

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever **_**in your favor,**

**~SetFires (Vixen)**


	26. It's Do Or Die pt 1

_"We're wide awake now, our eyes are wide open_

_We're running this world, we're keeping it turning_

_We're living like giants, yeah giants_

_We're bigger than giants, we're giants, oh…"_

_~Giants (True Damage)_

o0o

**Ambrose Volta (14) District Five Tribute**

**1:00 pm**

It's barely been two days since we've been landed in the Arena, and already, half of us are dead. Nine of us in the Bloodbath, Thorne the very same night, and then three cannons went off this morning… what are my chances of making it any farther than I already have? I've been living off the half-pound of dried fruit and liter of water I had found in my pack after the Bloodbath, but there's not anything else for me to gain substance from in this Arena. I'm out of food, out of water, and there's not much for me to do except pray for a Sponsor. Well, I could go and attack another Tribute for their supplies, but I don't have a single weapon on my, save for my own two hands.

Asher and Jordan are in this area of the Arena, this I know for sure. I saw both of them on my sprint here- and Lauren's alliance should be here as well.

Those three cannons, though…

I have no way of knowing who's alive and who's dead until tonight, and it's just past noon, based on the brightness of the blue lines of the Arena. That means I have to wait at least eight more hours until the death toll comes in.

I bite my lip. _So who's left?_ Districts 1 and 2, surely, Careers always make it into late-Game. Then there's Lauren and the boy from 4, along with Asher and I from 5. Phoenix is still out there somewhere, Danielle is with Lauren, and Sash is still with the Career Pack. Jordan Wheaton from 9… Nat and Aveline are with Lauren as well, and that makes everyone.

But I heard three cannon shots, so that means three of the Tributes I'd just named are dead. _But who?_

Not any of the Careers, surely. Asher and Jordan are definite threats and probably wouldn't go down too easily. Mikail, though… Mikail and Phoenix, if I have to guess, are in the city. I didn't seem them coming towards the woods in the initial dash from the Cornucopia, and they haven't shown up since. I would have seen them, surely, given that I am based near the edge of the forest. Far enough away from the Cornucopia not to be spotted- though that means I cannot spot in return- but still at a good vantage point to survey the edge of the forest.

So Phoenix and Mikail could very well be dead by the hands of the Careers… or Lauren's alliance has been parred down. Significantly.

Earlier, I'd heard the unmistakable sound of a light cycle roaring to life, but I'd been too busy setting a snare to go and check. The sound was faint enough in the distance that it had to be just one, so it couldn't be the Careers, either going or coming back from a hunt. They always go after other, weaker Tributes in a pack- probably not to take any chances. Smart, but usually unnecessary.

That light cycle noise had told me something though. Either someone new had just entered the forest, or someone had just gotten out.

_But if Phoenix and Mikail are dead, that doesn't make any sense for someone to be coming into this area of the Arena alone. _

On the other hand… if three of Lauren's alliance was killed, then it would only make sense for the survivor to try and make a break for it- especially if all, or even just four- of the Careers were there, provided she keep a safe distance away from the Cornucopia and whatever might be lurking there, or whatever traps the Pack might have set up.

Speaking of lurking… there hasn't been a sign of the metallic wolf who'd made its vicious debut at the Bloodbath. I'm getting quite worried about where it's wandered off too. Perhaps the Gamemakers have called it back, because of all the bloodshed that's going on.

I'm not sure if that's a good thing.

Back to the other _human beings_ in the Arena though… if someone did make their escape, I would much instead not be stuck in this place with a scythe-wielding muscle-man and a probably insane Wolfchild.

It's high time I book it out of here. Plus, I could use the practice on the light cycle.

...

The city, when I reach it, is massive. A sprawling metropolis, looming towers, and unending lines. _So this is my new home. _There are more than enough hiding places- back alleys, doorways, shadowed streets. Not unlike the roads back home. _I'll fit right in here._

Unfortunately, if Asher Foster ever decides to check this place out, he will be too. Even more so. _All I can do is hope, I suppose._

I dismount, swinging my leg off the light cycle, and it shrinks into a baton again, clattering to the ground. I bend down and scoop it up. I glance around- catalog each and every building, the visible entryways from the street- and settle on the structure directly in front of me. No windows, one visible door- although there could very well be a side entrance or a back door that I haven't seen yet. _I'm going to have to be careful._

Moving on swift, padding feet, I approach the doorway. I don't have a weapon- I have to rely on stealth and my own wits to get me out of any problems I face- and pray I don't face any at all.

Edging inside, I peek around the corner. Do a quick scan of the room. There doesn't seem to be anything in here- nothing that's actively moving, at least. There's a lump in the far corner of the room, though- too far in shadow for me to make out what exactly it is. _A body?_ No- a hovercraft would have come to get it, surely. And the only cannons I heard were at least an hour ago. _Either the killer is still somewhere nearby, preventing the hovercraft from taking the body, or that lump isn't a corpse at all._ A person or something else- I don't know.

I steel my nerves and step further into the room. As I do, a flash of white catches my eye- pure, white light- coming from the lump in the corner. _None of the Tributes have white suits, do they? _I run through the list- none of the Careers do, and Phoenix is dark red. Mikail is some shade of green. But the packs and weapons at the Cornucopia- they were white.

Excitement builds in my chest as I rush over, and tug the bag open. Indeed, the glow fades from white into my own orange as soon as my fingers brush over the surface.

To my delight, it contains more water, a pound of jerky, and a knife.

A _knife._

Small, easily concealed, and sharp as a razor blade.

The sound of a footstep causes me to whirl about. Knife in hand, ready to fight.

Instead of Phoenix, or Mikail, or a mutt of the Arena, it's Lauren Silver who steps out of the shadows of the ramp that spirals upwards. She must've come from the second floor. _Stupid._ I should've spent less time fawning over my new weapon and more time exploring.

"What do you want?" I demand, adjusting my grip on the knife.

"Ambrose." Lauren sounds tired, and as I look closer, I can see the blood on her, where cuts have already begun to scab over on her legs, her arms, her face. "I don't want to fight you."

Indeed- while I'm still tensed in a ready crouch, Lauren simply stands there, one arm braced against the wall. Not to affect an air of casualness, I realize, but to simply support her weight.

"What do you want then?" I hedge. Lauren doesn't seem like one to deceive, not to me, at least, but that still doesn't mean I can fully trust her. These are the Hunger Games- you can't trust anybody.

The other girl manages a halfhearted, one-shouldered shrug. "Danielle, Natalia, and Aveline are dead." Her voice is flat, with little to no inflection, but silver is lining her eyes. "And Phoenix, as well as Mikail, are in the city."

Lauren holds out a hand- nails chipped and torn, with dried blood coating the pads of more than one finger. "I think there is strength in numbers, and two against one is better than the thought of facing death alone."

I narrow my eyes at her. "You want me for an ally?"

She shrugs. "I want a lot of things. But yes, Ambrose. I'm offering an alliance."

o0o

**Sash Radcliffe (16) District Eight Tribute**

**2:00**

While there is still tension between the five of us as we move about the Cornucopia, there's an atmosphere of calm that rests around our little base. After Aegis and Halliday had clashed over Lauren's escape, things had gotten very, very quiet. Both of them went their separate directions for a while- Aegis messing around inside the Cornucopia, and Halliday taking her light cycle to the Spiral Course and just driving around for a while. When she returned, both of them seemed to have significantly calmed down, and although neither of them apologized to the other, there seemed to be a mutual sense of understanding between them. For now, anyway.

Aegis, now sitting cross-legged in the mouth of the Cornucopia, is skinning a rabbit that had been unlucky enough to wander out of the forest and into the range of Athena's longbow. A clean shot, straight through the eye, had killed it in an instant. I didn't even know that there _were_ animals in the Arena, but, even if the forest looks unnatural, I guess there's gotta be some sort of huntable food living in there somewhere. The District 2 boy doesn't even flinch at the blood on his hands, looking perfectly natural as he pulls out organs and deposits them in a neat pile at his feet. Thames, however, pulls a face as he approaches. Doesn't comment though, only sits down next to him and leans over to whisper something in his ear. Aegis arches a dark eyebrow in response. He sets down the half-gutted rabbit and turns to face Thames, cocking his head to the side as if to say, _go on, I'm listening._

I know better than to listen in on the two of them, and Thames doesn't seem like one to plot a betrayal. He's not one for strategic planning. Also, he fell out of a tree.

A few yards off, Halliday is sitting back, leaning on her hands and talking with Athena, the former's long, chocolate brown hair pulled back in a sharp braid. Athena throws back her head and laughs at something the other girl said, and Halliday soon joins her, smiling.

I can't help the slight pang in my heart as I watch Aegis lean over to gently brush his lips across Thames'. Can't help the ache in my chest as Athena says something else that sends Halliday into a fit of giggles.

I don't know if I've ever felt as alone as I do in this moment. I'd gone as far as I could on my life path alone. I'd learned how to walk alone, how to carry others, how to cope with and solve my problems alone. What remained was a form of loneliness that required a lover to solve- the need for physical closeness, for touch and emotional warmth from a partner in life.

Rollag solved that. He completed me, fit the broken edges of us together to make a single, beating heart. When he was with me, the pain stopped. He was my medicine, the pain ebbing at the first sight of him. He put chains around my demons, and he was the first to ever be able to do so.

I fell for him harder than a slip on black ice; he was- and _is- _kind and funny, never failing to bring a smile to my face and a blood blush to my skin. Friends flocked to him like he was the only light in the room, hanging onto his every lyrical word, buying him drinks, slapping him on the back. I was smitten long before I knew, much less acknowledged the feelings, but found that I wanted to get to know the man behind the smiles and punch lines.

So I learned how to play the bass guitar for him- for Rollag, with his melodic voice and sea-storm eyes. Learned and laughed, fell in love, and began to remember how to live.

But here, alone and in the Arena with a death sentence hanging over my head and the imminent knowledge that I will be sent home in a coffin, I am once again at a plateau, neither suffering nor truly in comfort, a sort of emotional-limbo. I guess you could call me lonely.

Not alone, no, because there are eleven people left in this Arena and I am surrounded my four of them. But lonely, yes. Lonely, because I miss Rollag and the band and District 8 more than anything in Panem, and there's nothing I'd like more than to see them all again.

And it's been a fact- an unavoidable certainty that squats in the darkest corners of my mind ever since my name was called at the Reaping- that I won't make it out of this alive.

There are four people who were trained to kill sitting around me, and while they may be smiling now, they are just as capable as walking away from a mutilated body with blood dripping from their hands.

That mutilated body could be mine.

My head is swimming with half-formed regrets- that there is no more time on my ever-ticking clock, and there is no way to get it back. My heart feels as if my blood has become tar and struggles to keep a steady beat. These aren't healthy thoughts to have, I know.

Anxiety, depression, and the grief that comes with them aren't all that uncommon visitors who come knocking on my mind's door. Or, well, they barge in instead. Say _fuck the door_ and break it down. They rampage around inside my thoughts and my head and send me spiraling before I find some source of blinding light to drive them away.

Lately, that light has been Rollag, and music, and the band, but they're not here. They're not in the Arena, and some part of me, twisted and sick and horrible, wishes they were, so there were other people to share in my suffering.

But that's not who I am, not really. That's not what I really want, and I'm thankful to whatever fate was responsible for my name coming out of the jar and not any of theirs.

Even if the thread of my life comes to a halt here, the weft and weave of fate spin wondrous tapestries, and I can only hope my color shines out as vibrant as the rest.

o0o

**Killian Doppelmen (16) District Six Tribute**

**3:00**

The dagger that falls from the sky in a silver parachute is a gift. A gift of angels, a gift of demons, of darkness and beauty. A sly, twisted thing, with no guard- little more than a warped piece of metal. Perfect for sliding between the ribs, or into a heart, or into the chinks between armor. This is the weapon of an assassin, of a virtuoso at work, painting beautiful masterpieces in the crimson color of blood.

I will put it to good use.

With this knife as my paintbrush, I will create works of artistic brutality, and use my talent to send the message of terror deep into the hearts of the onlookers.

Just as there is blood in the heavens, there will be blood on the earth.

There are the Hunger Games, and there is nowhere to hide.

Thirteen are dead, and eleven of us are left to play the Game. And while the Careers may have their training, and others may have their wit and brains and brawn, I have _inspiration._ I am an artist, and I will paint this Arena in brilliant sanguine colors. The others… they lack the _imagination,_ the _genius_ that I have that will make them shine out among this filth and muck.. It is only through my actions that they will be remembered. They will be poetry. They will be _beautiful._

The storm is in their hearts, and I will calm them.

Phoenix and Arianna cringe away at the sight of blood, while I revel in it. The two of them fear death when to me, it is the most important moment of life, and I will do everything in my power to make it _spectacular._

It is why _I_ am the one who will thrive and bloom in this carnage, like a flower in the dawn, and they will wilt away in their cages made of iron and salt.

It is why _I_ have been let out of my cave of demons and war-torn monsters, and am here and performing instead of them.

This stage is below me, but I shall elevate it- I shall raise it up to the level of my talent and make everyone in this Arena _perform_ for me.

They are simply husks- backup dancers, vessels for a greater good to shine through, to be displayed through their bloodied and battered and _beautiful_ bodies. And I am the one who is meant to prepare them for such divine intervention.

One day, others may see the beauty that I have found in the angle of a broken neck, in the savage, intrinsic loveliness in a spray of blood. One day… but until then, I must continue to show the world the beauty that I see.

I have kept watch for the past three hours, and I have not missed the silver trail of light that signifies a new arrival, and the orange that follows not two hours later.

We have two more guest performers, I suppose. Two more sopranos in this opera of smiles and screams, who will sing to my tune and bleed for the crowd.

There are people who might call my artwork atrocious, others would call it sadistic. Others still might call it perverted, for the ways that I have posthumously considered arranging the bodies. Someday, my genius will be understood. For now, though, I am content to wait in the shadows. Wait behind the curtains, and work my magic from behind the scenes. They will dance, they will scream, and they will be instruments of sacrosanct transcention. And here, this place, Arena, is a canvas simply waiting to be decorated with my artwork, and only I know where the next brushstroke will fall.

I am a composer at work, and I will stun the audience with the truth and loveliness of my operas.

I would call myself enslaved to this passion- because there is nothing more morbidly fascinating than the art of dragging a knife along someone's neck. There is no better rush then the moment before the death blow, no higher ecstasy then the surge of adrenaline after a body falls limp at my feet. With my technique, killing shall blossom into _artwork! _It _compels_ me, drives me to places never before discovered, where perfection is no longer good enough and it is only the work that matters.

I saw the way some of the other Tributes have looked at me- during my interview, or before the gong sounded. They looked at me, and their eyes told me we were on the same page.

I can only hope the other ten people in this Arena are reading the same book. Because otherwise… if the other ten of us are not reading on the same page, dancing on the same blade of grass, then I must take _this_ blade, this shadow-wrapped gift, and slide it across their throats. But who wants that? Who wants that, except the audience, who _loves_ the sight of blood, and blood runs red for all of us. If that is so… if that is so, then each death is for the betterment of the performance, of the show, the _dance, _and therefore…

Therefore, they all must die!

o0o

**Sash Radcliffe (16) District Eight Tribute**

**4:00**

Getting out of my momentary slump was a bit harder than I thought it would be. Normally, I would have my bass with me, and I could simply play my feelings out on that, the low, ever-deepening tones of the instrument overwhelming me and washing away my pain and sorrow. Now, however, I have no such option. There's not really anything I can use for target practice, except perhaps the other four people sitting around me, and I'm not even going to begin to think about how stupid that would be. I might get one kill in. One kill, before Halliday had a knife through my throat or Thames impaled me on his spear. I'm not close enough to Aegis for him to do any real damage to me after the initial shot. I'm also not stupid enough to _not_ take out Athena- she's the only other Career with a weapon designed for range.

I don't even know why I'm considering this. It's guaranteed suicide.

… on second thought, it makes perfect sense why the idea sticks in my mind.

Maybe as a last resort. This alliance isn't going to last long anyway- not with so much tension in the air and with the ease Halliday and Aegis went for each other's throats earlier. Even if it was only with words. It's not going to be long before blood is spilled at the Cornucopia.

I should start making an escape plan. My stomach turns at the thought that I've been with the Careers- the _Careers-_ for this long in the Arena, when there are eleven dead and the vast majority of their blood on our hands. _I'm so, so sorry, Rollag. I did what was necessary, but it's not going to be enough, and I have betrayed you and I'm sorry._

If multiple people die, I could always get an arrow into the fray and escape in the chaos on my light cycle. On the off chance that I do move fast enough to execute the plan, I could be out of potential range in a matter of seconds. The odds aren't in my favor, though, and while my skill with the longbow has proven beneficiary over the last 24 hours, it marks me as a top-priority target for the others. My ability to snipe them off from afar, before they even know what hit them makes me more dangerous than even Aegis. And that's saying a lot.

I could always revert to the original idea- to just find a perch and start shooting, especially if the others are more preoccupied- but I know it's not just going to be that easy to scramble up the Cornucopia, put an arrow to the string, and shoot someone dead.

I'm a killer now, and there's nothing I can do to change that. I had that momentary crisis last night, and I have come to terms with it. More or less. If I'm going to get out of here alive, which is still my ultimate, despite unreachable, goal. If I add another name to the list, as Thames said before… I will find ways to condone and forget, and bury the memory under all the good times with Rollag that will unroll before us when I step off the train and back onto the soil of District 8. Step off the train, and into his waiting arms.

Even if I am a murderer… Rollag will accept me for who I am, how he always has, how he promised to since day one. We might have our ups and downs and hills and mountains and valleys along the way, but we will hold and carry each other through each and every one. Adding another name to my kill list won't change anything.

Except it will change everything.

It will change everything because I don't know if I can bring myself to kill any of these people. Kill Halliday, with her brilliant smile and witty remarks and shining eyes. To kill Thames- the golden-eyed boy who has begun to learn to wear his scars with pride and honor, every curve and bump and line. Aegis- no, I can't end Aegis' life. Even if he seems like a by-the-book Career on the outside, he has a kind heart, and a warm laugh, and loves Thames more than the sun and stars. Killing Athena means taking down the other marksman- markswoman?- in our small band of allies, and there's a sort of unwritten rule that we stay together. And so, I am at an impasse- if I can't work up the will to kill one of them, there's almost no way I myself get out alive.

I refuse to give up hope so easily. Not when I have so much waiting for me back home- a group of loving, caring, talented friends, an adoring boyfriend who means more to me than the world, and so many others who look up to us and what we do. We are a beacon of light, in this darkened world. We can't let ourselves be extinguished.

"Going hunting tonight?" Aegis' voice snaps me out of my momentary, metaphorical bubble as he hops down from the Cornucopia. I glance towards him, before stringing my bow and getting to my feet. Halliday joins me from where she was roasting the rabbit Aegis had previously been pulling apart, and Athena jogs over alongside her. Thames pokes his head out of the Cornucopia, before scrambling out, retractable spear in hand, and his baton clipped to a belt, slung low around his hips.

"I'd be up for it." Halliday tugs her hair over one shoulder, a rope of sleek chocolate-brown. "We should wait until the lights dim, even with our cloaks, but I'd be up for it."

I, personally, do no _not_ want to go hunting, but I can't afford to say anything like that aloud. I can't let them doubt me. "How do we want to split up?" I ask instead, and my stomach flips over. _Please don't make me go with Aegis. _He's too bloodthirsty for his own good, from what I've seen of him in battle, and I don't think I can take being responsible for another kid being sent home in a coffin.

"Thames and I can take one part of the forest while Sash and Athena take the other," Aegis says, after a moment of deliberation. "Halliday? Do you mind staying back at the Cornucopia to keep watch?"

_Oh thank god,_ is the first thing that floods through my head, but that comes to an abrupt, screeching halt when I see the look in Halliday's emerald eyes. She opens her mouth, and I can only think, _shit. This isn't gonna end well._

Seems like those plans I made might have to come into action sooner than I'd intended.

o0o

**Athena Shier (18) District Two Tribute**

**4:30**

The end of everything began with a normal question- or, at least, as normal of a question that a Career tribute can ask.

"Going hunting tonight?" Aegis had called across from his perch atop the Cornucopia. Sash looked up from where he's restringing his bow, eyebrows high. Halliday stood from where she was cooking the rabbit over a fire that Thames had struck up without too much difficulty.

"I'd be up for it," she agreed. "We should wait until the lights dim, even with our cloaks, but I'd be up for it."

"How do we want to split up?" That was Sash, joining us by the horn of plenty, bow in hand, and quiver over his shoulder.

Aegis had tipped his head to the side, lips pursed in thought. "Thames and I can take one part of the forest while Sash and Athena take another," he suggests. "Halliday? Do you mind staying back at the Cornucopia to keep watch?"

The plan _sounds_ perfectly fine to me. Sash is a good shot, and he's fun to talk too. I wouldn't have a problem hunting with him, and Aegis and Thames are a dynamic fighting pair. You'd think the two of them had been around each other for years with the fluidity and ease of their combat styles.

The plan, evidently, does not sound perfectly fine to Halliday.

Her green eyes narrow, lips thinning into a line. "I'm not sure I follow."

Sash's eyebrows pull together. It's not a very flattering look on him. "Halliday, what do you mean?"

Halliday waves a hand at Aegis and Thames. "I mean that your plan makes absolutely no strategic sense!"

Aegis tips his head to the side. "Alright, now I'm not sure I know what you mean."

Halliday's voice is flatter and colder than a sheet of ice as she says, "I don't think you or Thames are pulling your weight here."

Thames steps forward at that. Hand on his spear. "Halliday, Age and I both have three kills so far. He's responsible for a third of the Bloodbath. I think he's pulling his weight well enough."

"Not the killing, stupid," Halliday snorts. "Just this. In general." She makes a gesture, meant to encompass the whole group. "The two of you obviously favor each other, and that's great, but you should remember that there are three other people in this alliance who want to survive too and that you also can't spend every waking moment of every day together."

"That's not-" Aegis runs an agitated hand through his hair. "-Halliday, that's not how this works."

"Yeah?" She folds her arms. "The way we're splitting up makes absolutely no sense, Aegis. You want _me_ to stay behind and guard the Cornucopia, while you send our two archers off together just so you and Thames can sneak off and grope each other against a tree?" A snort, a shake of the head. "Not gonna fly."

A flush works it's way up Aegis' face and the back of his neck, but he stands firm against Halliday's onslaught. "We want to go home just as much as you do, Halliday," he says, his voice remaining level. His eyes, however, tell a different story- dark storms are raging behind those midnight blue depths. "We might have a different idea of how to get there."

Halliday's scowl doesn't fade; if anything, her expression darkens. "I agreed to this alliance because I thought there would be some sort of strategy involved once things began wearing down to the wire." She shifts her weight- cocking her hip to the side. The movement also brings her hand in easy reach of one of her fighting knives- something that does not go unnoticed by any of the four of us. "Obviously, I was wrong."

_This isn't going to end well._ Beside me, Sash is as taught as one of our bowstrings when drawn back and prepared to make the shot. I reach back, surreptitiously gripping an arrow between my fingers and nocking it into my bow. Sash does the same beside me, and we exchange a careful glance. _If this all goes to hell, we're going to need to stay together. _

"I don't want this to end in bloodshed, Halliday," Thames says cautiously, moving to stand behind Aegis. His grip tightens around his spear, though, and it's clear that he's preparing for a fight.

"And I didn't want to be stuck with a bunch of morons." Halliday snipes.

"You don't have to stay with us," Aegis points out. "You can leave the alliance whenever you want. Just get on your light cycle and go; we won't stop you if there won't be blood spilled."

Halliday's nostrils flare. "Maybe I will." She makes a move towards the Cornucopia.

Faster than I can track, Aegis whips his sword free from its sheath, and flings his arm out- the blade an extension of his limb, and stops the girl in her tracks. "I never said to take our supplies," He says evenly. "We're still the Careers, Halliday, and if you're leaving, you're just another tribute we need to hunt down."

Halliday's expression is wavering between fury and incredulity- her brows drawn together and her eyes ablaze. Her hand flies to the hilt of one of her daggers. _"What_ did you just say to me?" She snarls, and Aegis pulls the sword back, readies himself, gripping it in both hands.

"I said, you're just another tribute we need to hunt down."

Halliday fumbles for words at that, for a moment, but Athena steps in, her voice clear and sharp in the still air. "What if I leave with her? What happens then?"

Aegis doesn't miss a beat. "We still hold the majority. The Cornucopia is ours, and if you want it, you're going to have to claim it over our dead bodies."

"That's the _plan," _Halliday spits, unsheathing her knives.

Athena's hand on her arm is probably the only thing that keeps her from lunging at Aegis and trying to slit his throat. "What if Sash joins us?" She tries, one last time, casting a desperate glance at me.

I freeze. _Me?_ _She wants me as an ally… outside of the pack?_ It makes _sense,_ and it also _doesn't._ Because I'm just some bassist from District 8 who can start and finish his own battles and knows how to shoot a bow and arrow. I've killed one person, over the course of these entire Games, and Aegis and Thames both have three kills to their names. And I only have one.

Then again, it's the unspoken code of conduct, and all the pressure is now on me.

Aegis' shoulders are loose, his face neutral as he says, "That's Sash's decision. If he does join you, though," those dark eyes narrow, and the look in them goes from feral rage to a frigid killing-calm. "If he does join you, and you decide to take the Cornucopia, there will be three more cannons sounding this night."

o0o

**Jordan Wheaton (17) District Nine Tribute**

**5:00**

The axe in my hand is heavy as I pull my arm back, preparing to split the block of wood in front of me.

The heart in my chest is heavier.

The axe falls, and the wood splits cleanly in two. Much like my heart during the interviews.

Although maybe that was more of a crack. A gradual shattering, and then one final too-hard tap and everything came falling down.

The last few days have been spent in a sort of haze- my heartbreak being a grief that comes in waves, grueling, stealing my appetite and sleep alive. It is a shard in my stomach, a heavy, twisting weight that never leaves, though sometimes the edges will dull. It feels like death just the same as bereavement and in quiet moments, it chokes the breath from my lungs. What was once whole and beating and _alive_ is now shattered; where once was peace is emptiness, echoes of a promise and a seed of hope that was finally beginning to blossom under love's nurturing light.

I should never have said what I did during the interviews, and that guilt will gnaw at my fragmented heart for the rest of my dwindling lifespan.

_Aaliyah… the worst thing that I ever did was what I did to you, my love. _

_I'm sorry. I'm so, sorry._ And I can't tell her that in person. I don't know if I'm going to make it out of here alive, and if I do… I'm not going to be able to face her with blood on my hands. Stand before her as a liar and a thief and a murderer and still tell her I love her.

How would any girl react to that? Not well, I suppose.

_But everything happened so, so fast._ One moment I was burning under the spotlight, Tiberius's question ringing in my ears, and the next, I was bringing a dynasty crashing down on top of me, destroying any hope I had for a future with the only girl I have loved- the only girl I will ever loved.

Shame ripples through me, a gradual, burning tide. _I really am pathetic, aren't I. _Just some kid with muscles who wants to make his family proud and marry the most wondrous girl in the world.

And when she was finally within my reach, the possibilities endless and spiraling out before me, with the only thing standing between me and her a game of life and death that I swore to win… I let her go. I held her heart within the palm of my hand and crushed it with a few simple sentences.

_Why has everything come to this?_

It feels as if the very ground beneath my feet is unraveling and pulling me down into a darkened abyss where the demons of hopelessness and heartbreak will claw at me and sink their teeth into my flesh without remorse. Into a deep, unending pit where the only thing I will know is despair and my soul and heart and mind will be rended from each other. Where I will be shredded into oblivion.

I'm not sure if that's a bad thing.

Shouting and the sound of metal on metal draws my attention away from the devils of my own mind. _A fight._ I've never been one to actively leap into the fray, but… anything. Anything to get my mind off of _this. _This _pain_, this hole in my chest where my heart used to be.

I'm moving before I register what's happening. The trees become a blur around me, and I might me walking, might be running. It doesn't matter. All that matters is the weight of the axe in my hand and the barren feeling in my chest.

As I near, I can make out voices- shouting, snarling, calling out. A fairly large group of people, then- five by the sound of it.

Good.

More heads will roll.

I reach the treeline, and that's when the world stops.

It feels as if something has torn my mind from my body, some essential kernel of me out, and it has just been returned.

_What am I doing?_

I blink down at the axe in my hand, the sharpened edge glittering blue and white in the dim glow. I-

_What was I thinking?_

I want to throw the weapon away from me with a cry, but I know that would be stupid. That would only draw more attention to myself, and I can't risk that.

_Was I really thinking of diving into whatever mess is going on out there? Am I really that desperate? _I would like to think that I have at least some semblance of self-control when it comes to these things. When it comes to my emotions and controlling myself. Keeping myself in check. My common sense outweighs my stupidity, thank every god in existence but this…

This… whatever happened just then was different. Some kind of spiral my splintering mind has come up with, leading down, down, down, into what very well might be the ninth hell.

_Good god, what are these Games doing to me?_

I peek out from between the trees. _If I'm here, I might as well see what's going on._

And what I do see makes my blood turn to hoarfrost in my veins.

Around the Cornucopia, whirls of gold and red and green clash and come apart- Halliday, Thames, and Aegis. All with their weapons out, Halliday panting. Her knives are clean of blood, for now, and Thames' spear as well as Aegis' sword hold no sign of fresh killing. For Athena and Sash are standing some way off, Sash perched atop the Cornucopia and Athena at its mouth. The fight is occurring to the side, and while both archers have arrows nocked, there isn't a clear, clean shot either of them would be able to make. Not without running the risk of killing one of their own allies.

Aegis barks something out, a command of some sort, and Thames peels off from the fight between the dark-haired boy and Halliday, the two lunging for each other once again. I don't know whether to look at the blur of green and red dancing around each other in a waltz of pure lethality, or track Thames.

Track Thames, his spear out and the iron tip spelling death, going straight for the girl with the bow. Sash is too caught up in watching Halliday and Aegis that he doesn't see until too late.

An arrow is loosed, but Thames hits the ground, rolling, back on his feet in an instant, lunging out and swiping with his weapon.

Metal flashes, gold and grey in the cruel light of the Arena, and Athena Shier lets out a cry as Thames' spear slashes down her arm.

Crimson pools in its wake, beading on her exposed, pale skin.

At the noise, everything seems to go still. Sash lowers his bow. Halliday whirls towards the girl from 2, stance faltering, and Aegis whips his head around to look at Thames, standing poised and ready, spear leveled at Athena's heart.

I inhale sharply, and take a step back, into the cover of the trees.

The Careers are fighting, and the first drop of blood has been drawn.

o0o

**No deaths occurred this chapter**

**o0o**

**Alliances:**

_**Angels and Demons: **_**Thames Venturi (D1M) and Aegis Harlow (D2M)**

_**An Ultimatum**_**: Halliday Frost (D1F), Athena Shier (D2F), and Sash Radcliffe (D8M)**

_**Stronger Together: **_**Lauren Silver (D3F) and Ambrose Volta (D5F)**

_**Among The Hidden (Loners, for now):**_ **Mikail Drakil (D4M), Asher Foster (D5M), Phoenix/Killian Doppelmen (D6M), and Jordan Wheaton (D9M)**

**o0o**

**A/N: *hides behind a couch* YES I KNOW IT'S BEEN A MONTH AND I AM VERY VERY SORRY PLEASE DON'T THROW ROTTEN FRUIT AT ME! I fell into a bit of a slump there, I will admit, but I've finally stopped wallowing and wrote this. While my writing hasn't changed that much, the way I go about doing things related to it has, partially because the time frame I usually use to write has been **_**otherwise occupied**_ **for the last week or so. But I think I'm on a much more manageable, much healthier schedule now, thank god. I did also have a request for a friend to write, and I skidded **_**waaaaay **_**past the deadline for that too, so I killed two birds with one stone, wrote ALL OF THIS STUFF and that, and now fully intend to eat ice cream and watch Stranger Things for the rest of the night. **

**What did you think? Ambrose and Lauren have found each other, Sash has come to terms with his fate, Phoenix is on the hunt, Athena has found a new friend and someone to lean on, and Jordan is filled with regret and on the borderline. Let me know in a review or a PM, I'm dying to hear from you!**

**I hope you enjoyed this first part of Arena night 2, and yes, there will be a part 2 that I'm getting out as fast as I can. Sherazade, this was your 'calm' chapter, without any deaths ;) It's the only one you'll get for a while. These Games are moving fast, and with the pure lethality I have with the current bunch I'm working with, there'll be a whole lot of killing.**

**Speaking of killing, that brings me to the point of Killian's POV, in which I have to say that I was heavily inspired by League of Legends champion (champoon), Jhin, the Virtuoso. Credit due where credit is due!**

**And, alright, I lied, I do have one more thing to say: I need to give two last shoutouts here. The first one goes to **_**thorne98,**_ **who's been my steadfast soundboard and friend over the last few weeks. Remember, I stand behind you and you have my unwavering support, bud! In anything and everything you do! **

**Secondly, and expect to see his name pop up **_**a lot-**_ **whether in these Author's Notes or on my bio or even just in general conversation, **_**Paradigm of Writing.**_ **Para, **_**estrella,**_ **you've lit up my life and reminded me that I am loved and alive and stronger than I lead myself to believe. I will be your lighthouse and shelter and rock whenever you need me to be, and hold you tight through every storm. Thank**** you so much for existing and keeping me here, with you, in the world. The timer begins now, archangel, and I'm counting down the seconds.**

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever **_**in your favor,**

**~SetFires (Vixen)**


	27. It's Do Or Die pt 2

_"Pick up your weapon and face it_

_There's blood on the crown _

_Go and take it_

_You get one shot to make it out alive…"_

_~Rise (League of Legends, ft. The Glitch Mob)_

o0o

**Athena Shier (18) District Two Tribute**

**5:15 pm**

The wound on my arm _throbs_ in time with my heartbeat, the gash deep enough to make my entire arm ache and prevent me from drawing my bow. Thames, quick as an asp, draws back and flits back to Aegis' side. The District 2 boy had acquired a shield, sometime between the time he and Halliday faced off and this brief halt in the fight.

Thames is by Aegis' side, and I can't help but worry about Halliday as she puts her chin up, green eyes flaring in defiance, nostrils flared. She's a good fighter- she's better than good, she's spectacular- but facing off against not just Aegis, but Thames…

"Help… her…" I hiss at Sash, and he whips his head around to stare at me. He apparently scrambled down from the Cornucopia the moment after Thames slashed my arm into nearly two different pieces.

"Me?!"

"Yes, you!" I snap back, snarling through the pain in my head. "Who else would I be talking to?"

"I can't do anything!" Sash's eyes are wide, the dark brown oddly reflective in the Arena light. "I can barely even shoot, Athena, let alone hold a weapon!"

"You threw a knife just fine in the training center!"

"That was different!"

I let out a groan at the pounding of my head, the pain making it hard for me to think. Sash is fast to catch me as I stumble, a solid weight for me to fall against.

"Thanks," I mutter.

"Not a problem," he answers, dark eyes moving fast, tracking the fight between Halliday and our two former allies. She is little more than a blur of silver and emerald green as she brings up both blades to block Aegis' strike, twisting aside to simultaneously disengage and dodge Thames' spear. She's doing extraordinarily well as of now, but once the two of them actually decide to go in for the kill… the odds are already not in her favor, and once Aegis gets that glint in his eyes, the killing calm sweeping through him and turning his veins to hoarfrost, then she's dead. She's so, so dead.

I open my mouth to demand once again that Sash help her, but he's already one step ahead of me.

"Get down!" Sash snarls in my ear, moving so fast that I nearly lose my balance for a second time, and I barely have time to duck before his arrow goes sailing over my head.

It's a well-aimed shot, swift and lethally aimed, but Aegis is faster, bringing up his shield, and takes the blow with maddening ease.

The shot, however, gives Halliday an opening, but she is currently unable to take it, busy warding off Thames' spear, him using it's retractable feature to full advantage. We have yet to see that whip of hers come out and into play, but there's no time for her to retrieve it from where it's coiled at her belt.

"Come on, Halliday," I whisper, not dating to raise my voice for fear of distracting her.

Sash has vanished from beside me, into the Cornucopia, and he emerges a few moments later, a med kit gripped in his hand and two newly filled quivers, one slung across his back and the other at his hip. "Show me your arm," he says, setting the bag down and rumaging through it. "We need to get something on it and stop the bleeding." He stands up with a roll of bandages and a pot of… something.

I eye it. "What's that?"

"Ointment." He reaches for my arm. With some reluctance, I hold it out, and he soothes the mixture of medicine along my arm. Initially I hiss at the sting and pain, but it gradually soothes away under his touch. I let out a breathy sigh of relief, and Sash chuckles, beginning to unravel the bandages. "Better?"

_"Much."_

"Glad to hear it," Sash smiles, pressing down on my arm. I wince on instinct, but there isn't any real flare of pain as he begins wrapping the bandage around my forearm. While his focus appears to be completely honed in on my arm, I know better. His head is inclined towards the fight, and his eyes are flitting back and forth as if he's watching it playing out right in front of him. I myself turn to take in the goings on, and can't stop the sharp inhale that catches in my throat.

Halliday's been driven back, almost against the Cornucopia, and she's breathing hard. Her blades are steady, but she has the look of a cornered predator in her eyes. _We need to help her._

Sash finishes with my arm, standing and brushing his hands off brusquely. "Can you hold a knife?"

I nod, and wordlessly hold out my uninjured hand. It may be foolish of me to leap into the fray so soon after being injured, but I'm not going to watch Halliday die. Sash presses one into my palm, before his fingers are gentle on my chin, tilting my head up to look at him. His brows are furrowed with concern. "Don't die, alright? I'll be doing what I can from here," he gestures at his weapons, "But you're the one who's gonna be in the thick of it. Be _careful."_

I square my jaw, and flick my eyes towards the battle. The three of them have split apart for a spare second, all three panting, but Halliday is clearly winded, while Thames and Aegis seem to be regaining strength and regrouping. To my pleasure, I notice that Thames has a gash along his midsection and is fairly scratched up on his arms. While none of the wounds are bleeding, already clotting, it means Halliday has gotten some hits in, and that's impressive in and of itself. _Hang on, Halliday, I'll be right there._

Focussing back on Sash, I nod decisively, muscles bunching and ready to spring into the fight. "Yeah. I'll be okay."

o0o

**Jordan Wheaton (16) District Nine Tribute**

**5:30 pm**

There's barely any lull in the fight after Athena gets her arm sliced open. Halliday is facing off against both Thames _and _Aegis and she's holding her own, even if her moves and parries are defense-oriented, and she is no longer making any real effort to attack. Sash is tending to Athena, ducking inside the Cornucopia to try and find first-aid supplies. There's a long, trailing fuse-looking thing leading out of the horn's mouth, snaking across the ground and the end of which is lying not too far off from where Halliday and Aegis and Thames are fighting. Sash doesn't seem to notice it, though, as he rushes back out to Athena's side, wrapping her arm after applying some sort of cream and ointment that makes some of the tension leave her face. He asks her a question, she gesturing with her other arm, and he nods as if in understanding.

_I shouldn't be here._ It only spells danger- not just for one of them, who will inevitably die tonight, but for me as well. Because if I stick around and am spotted. I could be ripped to shreds. Whether it's over who wants the glory of the kill, or perhaps they all come together one final time to land one last kill, I don't know, and I have no intention of finding out.

And yet… this is my chance. This is a chance to take out one of the Careers- maybe Halliday or Aegis- and escape in the ensuing chaos. I don't want to kill Thames, becuase then Aegis would probably murder the other three and then hunt _me _down as well, and he's well-trained and fitter than an apex predator in the prime of hunting season. Hallliday though… or Aegis himself… the whole of the Arena would benefit from their deaths. Except perhaps Thames, and even if the he _is_ a cold-blooded killer with a heart seemingly made of steel, he seems to genuinely care for the District 2 boy. With all that I've been through, all that could be in my future… I find that I don't really have the heart to take someone away from another person. To take their world away from them, even if that world might be a temporary escape from reality.

But I need to take one of them out. I'm here, and I have a weapon, and I need to do _something _instead of just running away like a coward.

I thumb my hatchet free from the belt at my side- a Sponsor gift- one given to me almost immediately after the Bloodbath. There's a longsword that hangs by my side as well, but that involves getting close enough to one of them to use it. That's not happening. Not if I have any sense of self-preservation left in me.

I exhale, blowing air out of my nostrils, staring down at the hatchet in my hands. If I do this, if my arm moves and I let this weapon fly, I _will_ be marked as a killer, a murderer, no matter who's skull this axe cleaves apart. Whether they're a Career or a tribute or even a random townsperson, my reception and District 9 will be the same.

And it's not as if I don't have any other choice. I could just leave and let this fight play out, for better or worse. But at the same time, I don't know if I can let that happen. Either the Careers will all kill each other, or the weakest of the five will be eliminated, leaving the deadlier, more threatening ones to still roam free. I would like to increase my chances of survival, if at all possible, and that means I have to be the one to take out one of the powerhouses. Ideally, I'd hit Aegis with this hatchet, or Halliday. Thames on his own doesn't seem to terribly dangerous, aside from the fact that he killed two people during the Bloodbath without seemingly a second thought and first blood has gone to him both times I've seen him in action. But with Aegis at his side, I can only imagine the hell the two of them could unleash.

Halliday is a force of nature in her own right, no matter who stands with or behind or against her. She needs to be dealt with, and fast, but in my current position, I don't have a clear shot that I know will hit.

Then again, I don't know if when I do throw the hatchet that it'll actually hit any of them, even if I did train in the art during the last week. _It's a risk I have to take. There's a good hundred meters between me and them, so I can get a head start._

That leaves Sash and Athena, and out of the two, although she may be injured, Athena is a trained Career. I'm sure she can fight one-handed with some sort of melee weapon, and she's still quick, light on her feet. Not to mention her mind. From what I saw of her during training, she's smart; remembers everything.

And killing Sash… I'll be hated by everyone, from this point onwards. There's no way I can risk that, not with so few Sponsors in my corner already, and prices for everything is already going up.

_Athena it is._

In the end, there is no real finesse to my movements as I bring the hatchet up over my head, a death-grip on the handle right up to the moment when I release it. It spins through the air, end over end over end, the honed edge sparkling in the blue light, and makes a sickening _crunch_ as it sinks into Athena's skull from where she has her back turned to the treeline, talking to Sash, a knife in her unbandaged hand.

Or… where she was talking to Sash.

Her scream is cut terrifyingly short, and Athena's body crumples to the ground, the lights on her suit dimming and dulling into oblivion. Her blood is a sanguine pool beneath her head.

The fight halts for a second time. Sash has a hand over his mouth, stumbling away from Athena's corpse and the ever-spreading pool of blood that's forming around her. When I glance over at the rest of them- Thames, Aegis, Halliday- I swallow. Hard. Thames is bleeding- heavily, it seems, from a deep gash down his ribs, and his hand is pressed to his side, trying to staunch the blood flow. I don't know if that's going to be a fatal wound, but I can hope. Aegis isn't by his lover's side, however. He's standing by the fuse attached to… something within the Cornucopia, a match in his hand, and when he drops it, the fuse begins to burn. Fast.

He steps away, stomps out the match, and smirks darkly. He clearly hasn't seen Thames' condition, or he'd have a very different expression on his face.

I look back towards Thames and Halliday, and instantly regret it, because the girl from 1 is staring straight at the treeline. Straight at me.

Her eyes meet mine. Only for a split second, but I can _see_ the fury and grief roiling in those green depths. _Shit._

I need to get out of here.

Fast.

The girl from District 1 steps towards me, daggers raised and angled, fatal wrath in every move as she advances.

And that's when the Cornucopia explodes, going up in a great ball of fire.

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District One Tribute**

**6:00 pm**

"Aegis, _move!"_ I throw myself at him, my momentum and weight bearing him to the ground. He's bigger than I am, with more muscle and broader shoulders, but I cover his body with mine the best I can. _Better me than him, _I repeat, over and over. He has more of a chance of winning this whole thing than I do, loathe as I am to admit it, even with what he means to me.

Which is probably more than he should.

But there's only one thought in my mind as I dive for him, angle him away from the blast and putting myself straight in its path, bracing myself for the pain. _Protect, protect, protect. _The word echoes with every frantic beat of my heart, and time seems to slow, and I'm painfully aware of every breath the both of us take, and my stomach churns at the thought that each one could be the last. _I can't let that happen. I can't, I won't, not to him, I'll accept it if my life ends here, but his won't!_

Whatever comes next is going to be painful. It's going to make me scream and howl and I know that I'm very well living out the last few moments of my life. Yet… there is no doubt in my mind. I don't know _why_ the Cornucopia is exploding or what caused it, and somewhere, some part of me is worried about the supplies, but _fuck that_ because it's _Aegis._

He matters more to me than I ever thought something in this world could. More than family, more than anything. Then again, my family isn't exactly the best, but I have Bastion and Valiance, and they are my real family, the people I chose to surround myself with. And Aegis means more to be than I think they ever could, in a way. Being put in a life and death scenario does that to a person, I suppose. Makes you look back on your life, and take a closer look at the relationships you have with… with, well everyone, and consider who it _really _is that you're fighting for. And sure, I'm fighting to get back home for Valiance and Bastion, and there's history there, between the three of us, the profound bond that we share that words can't even describe, but when it comes right down to it, I know they can help each other. We always have, we stuck together, and I don't think it'll make all that much of a difference if I'm not there on the day Bastion quits drinking, or the day that Valiance brings a girl on one of our wild club nights. I know I would _like_ to be, but I'm not going to get everything I want in life. Learned that the hard way.

But here, in this Arena, I'm fighting for Aegis. For the boy who's found my heart and touched it in the most intimate of ways and seen my shattered pieces and put me back together. Taken the raw piece of clay and marble that was me, took his tools, and refined me into something I can maybe, one day, if we ever get out of this, be proud of. And I owe him for that. I owe him more than human nature will lead you to believe.

For him, I might just do anything. Anything… such as throwing myself in front of him to protect him from an exploding horn of plenty that rains down fire and bits of… Cornucopia material, sharp and deadly. Smoke fills the air, the sound of the explosion echoing in my ears, making my head positively ring, and then there comes the heat.

The heat that sucks all the oxygen from the air and straight out of my lungs as I twist away from the blast, Aegis' body hard and solid against my own as I look to protect every part of him that I can. Something sears along my calf, and only a lifetime of training and discipline keep me from roaring the pain to the Arena sky. I cannot show any signs of weakness. Sponsors are going to be few are far between as it is, now what Aegis and I have broken off, and God only knows which side any of them will choose. The thoughts are flash fire through my head before they are burned away in a wall of heat and constant agony. _Shit, shit shit shit, something's on fire, that something could be my leg, oh Jesus fuck._

There's a sharp, stinging pain as I try to readjust myself atop Aegis, move my hand to a more comfortable position, if anything about this can be considered comfortable, and I recoil. _Shit, what was that?_ My eyes are burning as I try to keep them open, to check on Aegis, to make sure he's alright, and then a strong arm wraps around my waist, a voice talking in my ear, words that I can barely make out. _Alive. He's alive, he's alive, he's alive, and that's all that matters._

"Nobody panic," I whisper, my voice barely a rasp in my throat, right before consciousness slips through my fingers, elusive as a fox. "Nobody… panic… but I _think_ I've been set on fire."

o0o

**Ambrose Volta (14) District Five Tribute**

**6:30 pm**

"So," Lauren says. Her voice is hushed- she hasn't raised it above anything other than a soft, rueful laugh as she recounted her tale of how the Wolfchild and the Careers had tracked and killed the majority of her alliance. "That's how you've been surviving this long. There _are_ edible plants in that forest. I had been wondering."

I shrug, and kick at the ground. We've been wandering the streets of the city for sometime now, taking the time to take in the grandeur of the architecture and the sheer splendour of the Capitol as we walk. It might not be the best option, but it's certainly better than sitting around in some building and moping in a puddle of self-pity. "I spent most of my time at the edible plants station and focussed mainly on survival. I'm not all that noticeable, and I needed all the knowledge I could squirrel away before the Games began."

"You're noticeable now," Lauren points out. "You're in the top ten."

That makes me pause, tilting my head back to stare up at one of the towering buildings, lit up like what was once called a 'Christmas tree' in one of our storybooks back home. "I suppose I am, aren't I. Both of us are." The cannon had taken both of us by surprise as we pooled supplies as went over strategy, defensive tactics and what we would need to get us through the next day. Planning much farther ahead of tomorrow does us no good- we could die at any given moment, what with Mikail, who's known as the Eel on the streets back in his home of District 4, and Phoenix, who drew a training score of _8._ "Do you think we'll get more Sponsors now?"

A shrug at that, and I have to scramble to keep up with her as Lauren begins walking again, long legs eating up the ground. "I don't know. Possibly. Hopefully."

Casting my gaze towards the dark, swirling vortex that makes up the sky of the Arena, I open my mouth. "Hey, Capitol people watching this, give us food! And weapons! And any other shit you think we might need, because chances are we do!"

"_Language,"_ Lauren scolds, but her mouth is turning up at the corners.

A pang of sadness hits me as I watch the smile slowly dissolve from her face and her eyes go meditative and withdrawn once again, a brilliant flower curling colorful petals inwards. In the training center, Lauren Silver had been a vibrant, calm presence, always there to diffuse what fights she could, lending a helping hand to anyone in need. Brimming with life and vitality, she reminded me of a hummingbird, in a way. Flitting around, colorful and one of the people who you couldn't resist wanting to be around.

Now, though… now, her eyes have dimmed, and she's shrunk in on herself, shoulders curved inwards to make herself as small as possible, and she rarely speaks. It's only been a few hours, and the signs of grief are already weighing heavily on her. It's as if the deaths of her three former allies are physical weights resting on her shoulders, and she's slowly crumpling beneath their burden.

Hesitantly, I reach out, and place a hand on her arm. She pauses, midway through a step, putting her foot down, turning to look at me. Her hair is coming loose from the fishtail braid she's keeping it in, strands hanging down and framing her pale face, still spattered with traces of blood. She's gaunt, and bounces on her toes, eyes never quite staying still as they flit from one area to the next. Always alert, always watching. _This is what the Hunger Games does to people. Even someone as resilient as Lauren, these catastrophic, monstrous events have the power to break her. _

I want to comfort her in some way. Tell her that it's not her fault that her allies died, that there wasn't anything she could have done to stop someone of the likes of Asher or any of the Careers, even Sash.

I don't think there's anything I could say of any real meaning, though. Me, a 14-year-old girl who spends her days on the streets, chasing the shadows of a girl I'll never really have. No one can _have_ Kaede. Wild and fierce as an uncaged animal, with all the spirit of a spitfire, mythical beast, beautiful beyond reckoning with the strength to match.

"... Take care of yourself, Lauren," I finally say. "Your personal health is important, even more so here. Don't let their deaths be in vain. You can't change what's happened, you can't rewrite history, so there's no point moping about and not trying. We need to keep our chins up and keep going." My mother always used to tell me that there's no use rereading a chapter of our lives, because it prevents us from writing a new one. "Don't stumble over something behind you. Keep your eyes on the horizon, and there's going to come a point in these Games where you're going to reach it."

Lauren eyes me. The blue in her eyes has faded to a sort of aonibi shade, and her expression is carefully neutral as she watches me. She doesn't say anything though, but I know I need to tread carefully, pick and navigate my way around shards of sapphire glass without getting cut.

"I'm rooting for you to win, Lauren. Because there's no way that I'm making it out of here alive. But you have a chance, because you're kind and smart and bold, and you can get through something like this if you put your mind to it. But it has to come from inside _you,_ Lauren. I can't will you to stay alive, no matter how hard I try. I can't wish away your grief. That's an obstacle you're going to have to overcome on your own, and it doesn't matter whether you _think_ you can't, because I know you _can._" I force my shoulders to lift in a nonchalant shrug, blink away the tears that threaten to slip from my eyes. "Your choice, Lauren. Live or die. I can't make it for you."

Lauren's next inhale is shaky. Her throat bobs, and something gleams in those aegean eyes, a spark behind relit, a fire being rekindled. She nods, slowly, lips parting as if to say something.

A voice interrupts whatever she was going to say. Low and melodic, carrying ripples of crimson and promises of darkness. "You might not be able to make the choice for her, Ambrose Volta, but I certainly can."

We whirl around, and see Phoenix Doppelman leaning against the side of the next building over, face half obscured in shadow. The knife in his hand, however, is sharp, and it glitters in the blue lights of the city as he steps into full view. A slow smile spreads across his face, and it's not a nice smile. Not a nice smile at _all,_ as he flips the dagger over and steps forward. "Hello, Lauren. Ambrose. Welcome to the metropolis."

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District One Tribute**

**7:30 pm**

"_Shit,_ Age, that _hurts." _I hiss a harsh breath out from between my gritted teeth. "Can't you be a bit gentler?"

"No," Aegis says flatly. His fingers are cool on my skin as he soothes the burns with the ointment I'd received not 24 hours earlier. "Now shut up and eat your crackers."

I go to do as he says, but as I sit back again, a flash of paleness against tan skin draws my attention. It's a scar, I realize after a moment, and I normally wouldn't think anything of it, except there's another one, a verticle line connected to the horizontal one, making a T shape. And beside that is what looks to be an H. "Aegis," I say sharply.

"Thames?" He doesn't look up, only presses down hard enough on my arm to make a jolt ride up my spine. I let out a sharp hiss.

Ignoring the flare of pain in my side, I reach up to tap his forearm. "What's this?"

He pulls back, then. Stares down with me those gorgeous, unfathomable eyes of his for a few heartbeats. His voice comes out hoarse as he asks, "Do you really want to know?"

There are so many cliche lines that I could use to answer that question. So many words to say that would give me an out, to take this down a different road.

I push them away, and instead say, "Yes."

He inhales deeply, sitting back on his heels. A few quick slashes of a knife and the material of his suit slides away, cut at the elbow. Blood tricks down the tan skin, but Aegis barely even notices, unflinching as he shows me his inner forearm.

It takes all my willpower not to recoil from the vicious scarring on that pale, tender flesh. _YOU ARE IN THE CAGE._

I stare at the scars for a few minutes. My heartbeat rages in my ears and the world fades in and out of existence around me. Pain, disbelief, horror, and the overwhelming need to draw the dark, wounded creature before me into my arms go to war within my mind.

I finally find my voice. "What does it mean?" I reach out one finger- it's trembling, I distantly note- and trace the O in _YOU_.

Aegis' other hand, strong and calloused, lands on my own, gently removing my own from his scar. He doesn't let go, though, as he says, "When I was young, my mother became a trainer and District 2's main academy. I was eight, at the time, and when my mother came home one night, ecstatic and proclaiming that she'd found a potential Victor, I found myself wanting nothing more than to be the one to put that same glow on my mother's face." His grip on my hand tightens, almost imperceptibly. "I began training by myself, with whatever was on hand- and by the age of twelve, maybe thirteen, I was using sticks against a tree- and every time I trained, there would be some sort of anger or _rage_ or _power_ that would fill me up. I'd end up breaking the stick into multiple pieces and absolutely _shred_ the side of the tree.

"My mother found the trees I'd been using for practice a few days later and officially brought me into the academy and took me under her wing as her personal student. It was there that-" his throat bobs, "-that I found this… _thing_ inside me."

_The thing._ The destructive animal that he'd become during the Bloodbath. That he'd told me about… _last night_. I manage a small nod to show that I'm following the story. My head is starting to feel too heavy, and it's getting hard to think past the pain that scorches up through my body, starting at my calf.

"I did everything I could to get rid of it." Aegis gives a little, helpless shake of his head. "But it stayed with me. A bit like a parasite. And that's when I did this to myself. It meant…"

His words trail off above me. I can still see his lips moving, but I can't hear him all that well. Like my head is underwater, and I'm drowning. I'm drowning in a pool of acid, and it eats away at my skin, a constant, unwavering pulse of _pain_ that throbs in time with my heartbeat.

_Oh, god…_

"Thames?" His voice brings me back. Aegis sounds near-frantic above me. His fingers have stilled from where they were smoothing away the pain that now _burns_ across my calf. I manage a whine of protest, but he still doesn't move. "Thames, come on, stay with me! You're going into shock, just a little while longer, okay?" We need to get you somewhere safe! Get _up!"_

_This is the Arena, _I think hazily. _Nowhere is safe._

"Come _on,_ Thames, _up!"_ He grips me under my arms and hauls me upright. I stumble, the world greying in and out, in and out as I sway against him. "Let's go! _Move!"_

We stumble through the forest- more like Aegis stumbles, and I'm being dragged- for the next god-knows how long.

I'm delirious from the pain by the time we stagger into a relatively sheltered clearing, and Aegis lays me down against the cool floor of the Arena.

"Thames?" He leans over me, inkwell eyes swimming with concern. He presses a hand to the side of my face, and his white scar flashes into view again.

_The scar._

_Wasn't I going to say something about the scar?_

What had he said? The words flit away as I try to grab at them, but I rally my will and send out a net, ensnaring them and pulling them close to study. Ah, yes. _It meant that I could not let my emotions control me. That I was locked in a cage, as long as the gorgon was still inside me._

He needs to know. Needs to know that emotions are _okay._ That they're part of human _nature_. I need to get my point across. It's _important._

_YOU ARE IN THE CAGE._

Feeling as if he's locked inside, away from all emotion and feeling and _humanity._

_It is what I have to remind myself from here on out, _he said. _That I cannot be slowed down, that I cannot let anything get in the way of us and our survival._

But that's not what I want. I want the Aegis I know and love- the Aegis who held me to sleep, rocking us back and forth and whispering sweet nothings in my ears. I want the Aegis who can laugh and smile and crack the worst jokes in the world and still bring a grin to my face.

Not whatever shell of the person I love that he is suggesting that he become.

I open my mouth. "You might be in the cage, Aegis." My vision continues to blur and fade, but I will strength into my fingers, ignoring the burn and throb in my shoulder, and grip his wrist until my knuckles turn white. "But as long as you are like this, _I am in the cage with you."_

His eyes widen. And that's when the world fades to black.

o0o

**11th: Athena Shier (18) District Two Tribute (Submitted by** _**TeamShadow**_**) Athena, your form came in and I instantly knew you would go far. Smart, level-headed, and a calm voice of reason, I loved your journey and can only hope that you're in a better place now, wherever you are. Rest in peace, Athena Shier. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 1/0/1]**

**o0o**

**Alliances:**

_**Angels and Demons: **_**Thames Venturi (D1M) and Aegis Harlow (D2M)**

_**An Ultimatum**_**: Halliday Frost (D1F) and Sash Radcliffe (D8M)**

_**Stronger Together: **_**Lauren Silver (D3F) and Ambrose Volta (D5F)**

_**Among The Hidden (Loners, for now):**_ **Mikail Drakil (D4M), Asher Foster (D5M), Phoenix/Killian Doppelmen (D6M), and Jordan Wheaton (D9M)**

**o0o**

**A/N: Pfft, no, Thames isn't dead, stop that. Stop that. I didn't write his eulogy and his picture isn't black and white on the website. **

**We have made it to the top 10, everyone! Welcome to the Hunger Games! There's nothing much I have to say here, other than the usual status update on your Tributes, my outro, and a thank you:**

**Thank you for sticking with this story throughout its many twists and turns, for reviewing with your kind words and inspiring suggestions. You all know who you are. *winks* **

**For reference on where everyone is: the Careers have split, and Thames and Aegis are in the woods, alongside Asher and Ambrose. Killian/Phoenix, Mikail, Lauren, and now Ambrose are in the city part of the map, and Jordan is hanging around the remnants of the Cornucopia, which Aegis blew to smithereens (you go, Age! No worries that you almost blew Thames up with it!) along with Halliday, Sash, and Athena's corpse, which hasn't been picked up yet, unfortunately. Asher is still hanging around the woods, but Thames and Aegis are in there too… Wolfchild beware. **

**As for the Cornucopia explosion, it didn't kill anyone, (Jordan's hatchet did though… poor Athena) there wasn't enough dynamite in there for that. However, the fallout of the blast severely burned Thames, and Halliday and Sash haven't escaped unscathed. Aegis has escaped with minimal damage, thanks to Thames and his body shield.**

**We've come so far, everyone, and I've **_**finally**_ **determined the plot for this- unless one of you throws an idea at me and I shove everything out the window. There will be 12 more chapters of Locked and Loaded after this one, as things stand right now, I hope to publish the last chapter on October 31st, a few hours before the first chapter of **_**A Court of Mist and Ruin.**_ **If I don't get it published, well, shame on me. You're getting the first chapter of **_**ACOMAR**_ **no matter what, though, because I'm damn well sticking to this one thing in writing, if I can't keep up with an update schedule, lmao. A note, if you are planning on being involved with the rest of the Fyreverse, **_**please read the epilogues when the Hunger Games come to a close**_**. I didn't have a lot of sub-plot in this story, but rest assured that there will be quite a lot of, erm, **_**plotting**_ **going on in future stories and I've put a lot of effort into designing the Capitol and Outside Forces cast.**

**If you haven't already, please go vote in the poll on my bio! If you're on FFN mobile, then you'll have to switch over to desktop mode to vote OR log on on your computer, so it's fairly easy and not a whole lot of effort. Do me a favor and fill it out? Thank you!**

**I'll see you all again in hopefully the next week, maybe sooner, with the next chapter, Arena day 3! I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your day/night, stay safe out there, and all my love goes with you! **

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever **_**in your favor,**

**~SetFires (Vixen)**


	28. On The Hunt

"_We're comin' at you live, real, real wild_

_Here to light it up, set the world on fire_

_Gonna break the rules and hearts in twos_

_'Cause that's what the baddest do…"_

_~The Baddest (K/DA ft. League of Legends)_

o0o

**Halliday Frost (18) District One Tribute**

_She's dead. _Athena's _dead_.

It's the first thought that crosses my mind as I open my eyes, squinting against the bright light of the flaming wreckage of the Cornucopia. I ache all over, and I'm more than sure there I'm going to be black and blue and many other colors for a while yet, but… _Athena._ Her name leaves my lips on a raspy croak, my throat parched from the heat of the blast. _He killed her. Jordan Wheaton killed her._

The first thing I feel is betrayal, which is irrational because for there to be betrayal, there must first be trust.

And I know better than to fall for a lie. _Don't I?_

_Either way, he dies today._

Or… tomorrow. _How long was I out? _

Getting to my feet is a bit of a struggle, and I have to stop halfway through, on one knee, breathing hard, a hand going to my side. It comes away red- explains the sharp pain in my ribs, then. My arms are scratched up well enough, both from facing Aegis and Thames either, as well as the blast. The blast… I'm not the only one who was caught up in the explosion.

_Sash._

I feel unsteady on my feet, and now that there's no Cornucopia, I don't have anything solid to lean on.

"Sash?" His name is rust coming out of my throat, and I taste something metallic, hacking and wheezing, waving away smoke. _Shit, how much of that is already in my lungs?_

That doesn't matter right now. Might not ever matter, given that I could die at any given point in time. _I was lucky enough to survive that blast, with how close I was to the Cornucopia. _Granted, the blast probably hadn't been intended to kill, simply destroy supplies and any chance the rest of us had at survival. _How long has Aegis been planning this?_ I should have known, from the second he got that look in his eyes after receiving that Sponsor gift. _Stupid. I could have prevented all of this from happening._

_I need to find Sash._ While the rest of our alliance might have shattered into fragments, we're going to stick together. Stick together, and show the rest of the Arena who exactly we are. What we can achieve. _They're going to regret being put in an Arena with the two of us by the time we're done._ I know that I'm perfectly capable of wiping out most of the competition that we have left on my own- if I was able to hold my own against both Thames and Aegis, then I can take either one of them on their own any day.

But with Sash… with Sash, and his sniper-like accuracy, his patience, and natural charisma, it could make the following days in this hellhole so much more bearable. Almost like a friend. _I'll have to kill him to win, in the end. And that's not going to be as easy as I would hope._

_But I'm a Career. I'm trained for this. I know where to hit to make the death fast and clean. Painless. That's how he'll go. _

For now, though… for now, he is my ally, and I have to look out for him. Nurse us both back to full strength before I begin my hunt.

I'm wobbly on my feet at first, and I have to sit down again to catch my breath. _Come on, Halliday, get up! _But when I try to focus on my own body, every system just seems to shut down. Refuse to cooperate, an act of defiance and malicious intent in one of the worst possible times.

_Up, Halliday! _Gritting my teeth, I flex my fingers, curling them into fists. Ease myself into a kneeling position before planting one foot on the ground and rocketing upwards. I sway but remain upright. _Now find Sash._

He was towards the mouth of the Cornucopia last I checked- a flash of violet out of the corner of my eye as I whirled to dodge the gold of Thames' spear.

Picking my way through the rubble and bits of black remains of the Cornucopia, I start to move towards what should be his general location.

I find him sooner than I thought. He's curled on his side, an arm flung out to the side, a leg at an awkward angle behind him. It's not broken, but it'll be sore for a while when he wakes.

"Sash," I whisper. His hair is blackened in places, falling away and crumbling into ash at my touch. His breathing is faint, but he's alive. He's alive, and at the sound of his name, his eyelashes flutter. His face tightens with pain as he begins to surface into the waking world. "_Sash,"_ I repeat, and he tries to sit up with an audible groan. I shift to his side, propping him up as best I can, offering support. He leans on my gratefully, head lowering as he takes fast, shallow breaths, trying to breathe out whatever pain he might be feeling.

"How do you feel?" I demand. Some part of me winces at the roughness of the question, the urgency, but there is no time to be gentle here. Not in the Hunger Games, where it is life or death, kill or be killed. "Can you fight? Walk?"

"Halliday," he winces. "I'm not in any shape to do much of anything. You might be, but," he gestures down at his side with his unburnt arm. "I'm not able to draw a bow or wield a weapon. Not quite yet."

_You have to be! _ I don't want Sash to be a liability. I need him to be functional and able to fight if he's going to be of any use to me because there's no way in hell I'm killing him now.

"_Shit,"_ I mutter, under my breath, desperately casting my gaze about, trying to find something that might be of use to us.

"Shit is right," Sash agrees, his voice still a rasp low in his chest as he tries to ease his weight off me. "There's no point in trying to find anything around her, Halliday, the only things we've got right now are what we have on us." A shuddering breath, as if it hurts to speak, and a hacking cough that shudders through his entire body. "Aegis did a good job of completely annihilating this place."

"Don't _say_ that," I hiss back at him. "Don't be so quick to give up hope." Nudging him, I slip out from under his arm and start poking through the nearest pile of Cornucopia. "We need-"

_"Medicine," _Sash exhales from behind me, and there's relief in his voice. Frowning, I turn around and find him reaching out for his container. It alights gently into his hands, parachute fluttering like the wings of a silver bird. _A Sponsor gift._

"Oh, thank God," I breathe, and can't stop the slightly hysterical laugh that bursts out of me as my own gift lands in front of me. Sash opens his gift swiftly, urgency in every deft movement of his fingers, and lets out a sigh of relief at what he finds inside. "Burn cream and bandages." He looks up at me, eyes shining with a new light. "What about you?"

Ripping into the packaging, let out another breathless chuckle. "Disinfectant cream and painkillers." I unwrap two of the tablets from the packaging and hold them out to him. "I'm afraid you'll have to swallow them dry, but it's better than nothing."

Nodding, Sash accepts the medicine, nose wrinkling before he swallows. "I'm going to need all the painkillers I can get, won't I?"

I frown. "Why do you say that?"

The bassist barely holds back his grimace as he reaches out for his bow, long fingers curling around it and bringing it close. The weapon had miraculously survived the blast- string and all, and he hands it to me to give an experimental draw and release. The string doesn't snap. "You have that… look in your eye." He gestures weakly with his left hand.

Squinting at him, I wrinkle my nose at the words. "A look?"

"Yeah," Sash says, on a raspy laugh that sends shivers- and not the good kind- riding down my spinal column. "The look that says you're ready to set the world on fire."

o0o

**Lauren Silver (18) District Three Tribute**

"Phoenix?" I wet my suddenly dry lips with my tongue. The boy standing before us _looks_ like Phoenix, but some part of me tells me that this isn't him. The gleam in his eyes and the knife in his hand, held with such calm comfort is another red flag gone up in the back of my mind, and as one, Ambrose and I back away. "Phoenix, what are you doing?"

A sneer flickers across his beautiful face, and wrinkles his nose, as if in disgust. "Phoenix?" A scoff. "He's not here right now. My name's Killian."

"Killian?" I repeat, brow furrowed. "I- who?"

Killian's lip curls and I instinctively step in front of my younger ally. _Don't you touch her. _Killian only snorts. Rolls his eyes, and comes forward, forcing us to yield another step. "Come now. Neither of you stands a chance against me, so don't bother to struggle or put up a fight. You don't have to make this any more difficult than it has to be."

This time, it's Ambrose who speaks up. "Just… let us go. Then there doesn't have to be a fight, or blood, or any difficulties!"

"Let you go?" Killian frowns as if the thought hadn't even occurred to him until now. "But my dear, the performance has only just begun? Won't you stay and watch the rest of it? It's impolite to walk out of a show early, don't you know?"

_What is he going on about? _

Ambrose and I exchange a look. _He's gone mad. _Whatever the Hunger Games have done to him, this isn't who we were hoping to find in the dark alleys of the city. An alliance with this boy is out of the question, and we need to get out of here. Fast.

It seems as if Killian has the same idea, or at least predicted our thought process. He produces a second knife out of seemingly thin air, running a finger along the glittering edge of it, not even wincing as his skin slices open and red trails out of the cut. "Each dagger is a song," he muses. "Each knife will be a _dance._ Each dagger is a piece of my _soul,_ each weapon is a piece of me." His eyes snap up, cool and calculating, and he throws the weapon, deadly and precise, straight over Ambrose's shoulder, from where she's partially stepped out from behind me. She lets out a little gasp of pain, and my heart constricts in panic as she brings her hand up, her fingertips coming away red. Catching my eyes, she shakes her head. It was only her ear that was grazed, along with a few strands of her hair. She's not hurt.

_If he can throw like that, why hasn't he killed us yet?_ When I voice the question, Killian actually laughs. Laughs, and it's not a pretty sound. It's too sharp, like nails on a chalkboard, or the death gasp of a wild animal.

"There is no drama in a peaceful death," Killian explains, his voice condescending and a bit pitying, as if explaining a simple fact to an understudy for the millionth time. "Death should never be quick. It should be an opera."

I… really, really don't like the sound of that. And so our little dance begins- and perhaps it is the stress of the situation that is getting to me, or maybe it's just the entrancing insanity of this person before me, but I _understand._ What's about to unfold will not just be a dance, it's going to be a final act in one big show. He thinks he will make us famous, make us beautiful and into a form of art only he can find intoxicating. Our lives had no value before he came into them.

Such is the mind of a madman.

But I refuse to be a puppet in his show. An understudy might not be able to upstage a virtuoso, but I can sure as hell undermine his work. Gritting my teeth, I reach back for Ambrose's hand. Her fingers lace with mine, and I squeeze, trying to be reassuring, although my skin is clammy and I'm sweating profusely, trying to keep still and not twitch like some corned animal. _I can't show him the true extent of my fear._

Eyes searching my face, as if looking for some sort of consent or validation, Killain finds none in my fixed expression of what I hope is defiance and fury. "You _will_ perform," He snarls, and his beautiful face twists into something brilliant and horrible and terrifying.

"You're insane!" Ambrose blurts from behind me, and every muscle in my body goes tight as a coiled spring, one wrong move and I'm ready to explode, veer off like a shooting star and take my ally with me, leaving Killian blinded

"You call me mad… all artists are mad. Art requires a certain…" here, he pauses as if searching for the right words. "Cruelty." A grin spreads over Killian's face, displaying too-white teeth. In that moment, his motives are laid bare; he is a murderer, a sadist; one who enjoys every ounce of torment he can inflict on others. "_Run."_

o0o

**Halliday Frost (18) District One Tribute**

_Found you._ Carefully, moving slowly as to stay silent, I slink to the edge of the clearing. We've been tracking Jordan for god knows how long, quietly dogging him through the trees, staying a healthy distance back- Sash with an arrow nocked to his bowstring, for the little good it will do him. Even if he can't draw it without hurting himself, the rest of the Arena doesn't know that. Except maybe Aegis and Thames, who are also in this forest, but with the condition the blast must have left both of them in, they're not going to be tracking other trained Careers anytime soon. Either licking their wounds or working their way towards the city area of the Arena- to find easy prey in Lauren and Ambrose, Mikail, and Phoenix.

That leaves me, Sash, Asher, and Jordan in the forest.

And soon, it'll only be me and Sash. _You're next, Asher. You had better sleep with one eye open._

First thing's first, though. I have to cross this name off my list before tracking down the child of wolves. While he may be big, Jordan isn't fast, and I'm going to have to use my speed to counteract his brute strength. It's a classic matchup, really, and I already know that I'm the one who's going to walk away from this. _I will not be heartbroken again. I refuse to let this oaf of a Tribute take anything else away from me._

_Never again._

With that thought solidly in mind, I step out into the open. Sash stays behind me in the brush- to try and provide what cover he can if things go south.

It takes Jordan a moment to spot me, but when he does, he's quick to put his hands up. "Halliday- I'm sure we can work this out…"

"Mind games aren't going to work on me," I snap. My knives are in my hands in an instant, and they're itching for blood. "Silver does, though," I add, cutting a glance to his blade, hanging by his side.

"Silver is for monsters," Jordan retorts, holding his ground. A hand rests on that weapon, though. _Come on. Draw it. Fight me. _

Jordan's nostrils flare, and then he strikes. Four blows with that massive longsword that I sidestep, before the fifth lands and I bring my daggers up to meet it. Our eyes lock over our crossed blades and Jordan grits his teeth. He disengages with the _hiss_ of metal against metal, and we spring apart.

I weave around his blade, party every thrust, ducking beneath every swipe. When we meet again, he uses his superior strength to drive me back against a tree. I glare up at him, chest heaving. "Gonna kill me?" I taunt.

Jordan doesn't move an inch, staring me down. He continues to do so until I wiggle around enough to angle one of my daggers and slide it across the exposed patch of skin, right above his waist. He hisses in pain. I shove him off me and we whirl back across the glowing Arena floor, blades clashing. I flip around his blows, moving fast- fast like a river, fast like the wind, fast like an adder in the woods of District 1. We meet again in the center of the clearing, and he bares his teeth, placing both hands on the hilt of his sword. He bears down, and I'm forced to skitter away, glaring at him. I take a moment, catching my breath, bending slightly at the knees. Ready for anything this fool might throw at me. "Is that the best you got?"

Jordan doesn't answer at first, just levels his sword at me and braces his feet. "I don't want to hurt you, Halliday," he answers finally, and his voice is still infuriating in his calm.

I tilt my head, one way and then the other, and I know there's a cruel tilt to my mouth, Unflattering, but honest, and isn't that what the Capitol wants to see? Me, facing off against the boy who's seemingly in love with me, and scorning him?

Well, no. They probably want some disgusting love story, some kind of sappy romance where we both drop out weapons and run into each other's arms. MY stomach revolts at the thought. _No. My name is Halliday Frost, and I will never be heartbroken again._ Doesn't want to hurt me, he says? Well, guess what. I curl my lip. "News flash, Wheaton, you already have. Why don't you tell that to Athena's dead body?"

Jordan flinches back, and the sickly rush of pride that surges through me isn't wholly unpleasant. "I didn't do-" he starts, before closing his mouth. "I didn't want-"

"What." I scoff. "You didn't want to kill her? You weren't in control of yourself as you threw that hatchet, it wasn't a conscious decision, huh?" I shake my head and raise my daggers. "Doesn't matter. What matters is that she's dead, you killed her, and now you're going to pay for it."

I fly at him, and we begin this dance again. I catch him in the middle of a duck, forcing him to block behind his back, the flat of his blade resting against his spine. Our eyes meet over his shoulder and I show my teeth, even as he whips around, dropping both hands to the hilt of his sword and rains down a hail of blows against my crossed blades. I stand firm against the assault, bracing my feet against the ground and putting my weight into the block. When he finally relents, I take my opening and fly forwards, knives singing as I press forward, ducking another swing, coming up panting. I swing, and he reaches down, catching hold of my blade a hair's breadth away from his thigh. Our gazes meet again and I quirk my mouth into a smirk as I wrench the knife out of his grasp, leaving cut skin in my wake as I rear up and strike.

It's a flurry of movement as we fly around the clearing, clashing and separating, me driving forward, him pushing me away, and as he brings his sword up to block my overhead blow, I swing low and bury my second dagger right into his vulnerable stomach.

He gasps, a wet sound, stumbling away, sword clattering to the ground. I let him go, leaving my knife embedded in his flesh, and stand perfectly still as he stares down at the weapon protruding from his gut. His lips form a word- a name, possibly, of someone back home.

I don't care.

Lightly stepping forward, over his fallen sword, I reach up on my toes and press my mouth to his. Sweet and sly, sugar and poison. "Let's pretend my last words to you were something worthy of a song," I say. And slide my dagger into his heart.

o0o

**Lauren Silver (18) District Three Tribute**

_"Go!" _My voice can barely be heard over the roar of my light cycle, Ambrose not far behind as we speed down city roads. Killian is quick to follow- staying just out of range of the deadly light trails that spit out behind us. _Smart. _I had hoped we'd be able to vaporize him, or at least his cycle, but that's clearly out of the equation. _We're not going to be able to get away from him without being at least a little creative. _

"We need to split up!" Ambrose yells, her voice muffled behind her helmet. "That's the only way we're going to survive!"

"I don't want to leave you alone!" I holler back, turning a sharp corner, the screech of Killian doing the same coming only seconds after I round the bend. "You might die!"

"All of us might! It's a risk we have to take!"

_A risk. _What kind of risk is it when a simple separation of two people could mean life or death for one? _A fucked up one, that's what._

I don't want to go our separate ways quite yet, even if we'll find each other again after we get Killian off our trail. I can't have another death fall on my shoulders, because I just _know _I will crumble under the weight, and now is no time to break.

If she dies, then I'll be easy prey for the next hunter who comes along, and I'm selfish enough not to want that. _I have so much to go back home for… my family, my friends, not to mention the fact that the whole of District Three will be blessed with gifts from the Capitol all year if I return victorious. _Not to mention the luxury I can bring my family into. I can only imagine the smile on Wyatt's face, the glee in Wyre's eyes as I show them around their new luxury home… _I'm going to get through this._ It's every Tribute for themselves here, now, no matter who we call a friend at the current moment.

"You go left! I'll go right!" I nod at the intersection before us, and Ambrose gives me a quick thumbs-up before speeding ahead, turning so fast that the side of her cycle nearly brushes the ground. I spare a quick second to pray for her- because even if I now have my eyes set on the prize and nothing will take me off course, that girl doesn't deserve to die at the hands of a monster like the one chasing us. Then, I gun the engines and go right, my hair rippling out behind me as I lean even farther forward, getting as close to the bike as I can, streamlining myself, trying to coax more speed out of the thing. I glance behind me, for once praying to see the telltale dark red of Killian's cycle behind me, but I'm shocked to see the vapor of his light trail going straight ahead, through the third option at the intersection. _What…_

_Shit._

He knows this place better than Ambrose and I do, surely. He knows that we're not stupid to split up so soon after coming together for good, and he's going to rejoin us when the two of us meet up again. _I should have seen that coming._ The other option is that he couldn't get around the corner fast enough, wracked by indecision on which one of us to go after, but that's just wishful thinking. That's not something Killian would do- not from the little I've seen of him so far. _But surely he has one of us in mind. Right? But who would it be… me, who has my brain and a heart set on the crown, or the weaker, 14-year-old girl, who's still unarmed and has never wielded a weapon in her life?_

My heart drops into the pit of my stomach, and I make the sharpest 180 turn in the history of turns, speeding back down towards Ambrose, her vapor trail long gone. _I shouldn't have left her alone like that. _

_Hang on, Ambrose. I'm coming._

o0o

**Mikail Drakil (17) District Four Tribute**

The explosion had taken me by surprise- I'd been making my rounds of the small area of the city I had decided to stake out as 'my own'. There wasn't anything mutt-like coming my way- it actually had been relatively peaceful in this area of the Arena, and my guess is that, given the sheer number of cannons going off over the last 48 hours, the Capitol's bloodlust was being sufficiently sated. _More time to plan for me, then._ I don't know too much about the rest of the Arena besides this one, meager part of the city, and that's one of the regrets I have about being in the top ten _so soon _into these Games because it hasn't given my plots and complex schemes time to shine. These things will be over in… less than a week, probably, and while it's not ideal, I'm sure I can make something work. I'm well aware of how… anonymous I've been since the start of these Games, and it's about time I make a name for myself. Show the Capitol what Mikail Drakil is really capable of.

And to do that, I'm going to kill one of the Careers. Athena's dead- the death toll in the sky told me so- and that leaves Sash Radcliffe, the other archer, Halliday Frost, the one with the knives, Aegis Harlow, and Thames Venturi, the last two with three kills each.

_I'm going to need to take out someone major for this to really make an impact._

Granted, all of us who are still alive in this place are major, because we're in the top 10, but if I were to focus down Lauren or Ambrose, that wouldn't come as a surprise to anyone. The Capitolites, the ones who unfairly hold our fate in their hands- would just watch the fight, foaming at the mouth like some rabid dog, eager for the next scream and splash of blood, before pouncing on the next interesting thing going on on-screen. No, if I'm going to make an impression, I'm going to need to take out someone big. Thames. Aegis. Halliday.

The risks are high- as high as my own life, and I'm not too keen on dying anytime soon. But I swore an oath to myself- to my brother's spirit, whatever land it may wander, whether it be in the clouds or the stars or the fires of hell. I swore that I would win these Games. So win them I shall. No matter what it takes. I'm smarter than everyone in this Arena put together, and if I think this out, find that master scheme and find the optimal way to put it in motion… then I will be the second-ever Victor of District Four.

Mikail Drakil, Victor of the 26th annual Hunger Games.

I like the sound of that.

Maintenance comes first though. Making sure whatever machine of death I will be putting out there is well-oiled, with all kinks worked out. There is no room for error here, and the penalty for a mistake is death.

_I will not die._

My sword is sharp, and I have the supplies I need… plus the medicine that floated down on a breeze of silver earlier today. Probably my prize for making it into the top ten. _I'll be getting a lot more than medicine once I wipe one of these Careers off the map. _And then District Four will share in my prosperity after I win these Games, blessing my District and the gangs that faithfully roam the streets with all the riches and food we could ever eat.

The stakes have been raised, but so have the spoils, and I'm more determined than ever to collect my prize. It is time to get locked into these Games, enter that Victor mindset, and obliterate anything and everything that stands in my way. Ally or no, and there is no one here that I can safely call a friend. There was no such person in the beginning, and I have no plans to make such ties now.

Feelings will only slow me down, in the end. Hinder me from reaching my true goal: of not just survival, but life. If I am unable to find it within myself to take these walls of ocean depths and abyssal stone around my heart down, once I've won, then so be it. Such is the way of Victor.

Such is the way of life.

This cruel existence of ours will throw ocean storms and tempests, hurricanes and tsunamis roaring our way, and it is up to us to weather them and make our way along our chosen paths. Trudge down the sandy road laid out before us, head bent against the gales, and persevere.

_And I will walk my path with honor._

Chances will be taken, and everything from this point out will be nothing less than risky. But I didn't get to the position I hold in the gangs of District Four, didn't earn the respect I have now from sitting back and playing it safe: I took those chances. Made the changes, adjusted on the fly, and planned for variables that might never happen.

Plotting has always been my strong point, and I must be flexible when making my master plan today. Take everything under consideration, and never cast aside a possible variable.

There is a chance that it was the explosion that killed Athena and she was unlucky to be caught in the blast, but I highly doubt that. Even if there was no retribution cannon after hers, I am undeniably sure that whatever blew up was a summoning. The Careers, trying to lure us in.

And, just this once, lured I will be. But I will be no fish caught on a hook.

No, because sometimes, a shark takes the bait… and drowns the whole ship.

o0o

**10th: Jordan Wheaton (Submitted by **_**Luthien'sLight**_**) Killed by a dagger through the heart, courtesy of Halliday Frost. Jordan… I didn't really know where to place you. I actually didn't know what to do with you until Halliday came along, really, and then your whole arc fell into place. Once that happened, it was fun to write you and take you along on this journey. Rest in peace, Jordan Wheaton. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 1/1/0]**

**o0o**

**Alliances:**

_**Angels and Demons: **_**Thames Venturi (D1M) and Aegis Harlow (D2M)**

_**An Ultimatum**_**: Halliday Frost (D1F) and Sash Radcliffe (D8M)**

_**Stronger Together: **_**Lauren Silver (D3F) and Ambrose Volta (D5F)**

_**Sink 'Till You Float:**_ **Mikail Drakil (D4M)**

_**The Rogue Wolf: **_**Asher Foster (D5M),**

_**Living on the Edge of Insane:**_ **Phoenix/Killian Doppelmen (D6M),**

**o0o**

**A/N: And there was chapter 28: On the Hunt! I hope you all enjoyed it, with a kill going towards Miss Heartbreaker and things are really getting tense, aren't they! Lauren and Ambrose are stuck in the city playing a game of cat and mouse with Killian, and Thames and Aegis are still in the forest with Asher. Sash and Halliday are hanging around the Spiral Course, and everyone's been Sponsored with some good stuff! It's all good fun, ain't it?**

**If you hadn't noticed, I've given up doing timestamps, because it just didn't work with how I styled this chapter. Ah, well. Live and learn.**

**The next chapter, chapter 29, **_**We'll Be Counting Stars**_ **should be out hopefully by the 8th, and I'm going to get my butt into gear and try to write the next chapter, **_**Over the Edge**_ **out on September 11th, along with the second chapter of my side project, **_**An Unfamiliar Dayglow.**_

**Thank you to all of you who voted on the poll (like, two of you, I'm sad about that), I appreciate the hell out of every single one of you who's reading this author's note, and not too long until we reach the finale, huh? Only 7 more chapters, that's unbelievable. Stay with me, everyone, I'm updating when I can and trying to get chapters out when I can! **

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever**_ **in your favor,**

**~SetFires (Vixen)**


	29. We'll be Counting Stars

"_Lately I've been, I've been losing sleep_

_Dreaming about the things that we could be_

_But baby, I've been, I've been praying hard_

_Said no more counting dollars, we'll be counting stars…"_

_~Counting Stars (OneRepublic)_

o0o

**Asher Foster (17) District Five Tribute**

_Only nine of us left… who would have guessed that these things would have flown by so quickly?_ I flex my fingers, still smirking as the claws slide out of the leather gloves on my hands. _I still can't believe I was Sponsored with these._

Nine of us are left, and I'm well aware that I'm not the most viable contestant for the Victor spot. Not when there are players like Aegis Harlow and Halliday Frost and Thames Venturi still in the competition.

A nauseous, self-contained feeling still roils in my stomach at the thought of any of the Careers- especially Thames. As loathe as I am to admit the fact that they're skilled fighters, I have no choice but to acknowledge their strength. If I don't, I'm going to get caught out, and that won't do me any good. Not in the long run. Even after whatever it was that happened around the Cornucopia and that large explosion that caused Athena's death, I can't let my guard slip, because the moment I do, one of them is going to emerge from the shadows and assassinate me from behind.

And that's the worst way to go. I want to die with my head held high, with a fighting chance, not with a slit throat and crumpling like a limp bag of flour.

_Chances are that if the Careers split, at least one of them would come here._ This is the closest part of the Arena to the Cornucopia, and an ideal location to set up base. _I need to scram._ It's time for the wolf to pack up his den and move to a new location. Find higher ground… perhaps the top of a building, in the city area, where I can have a full view of the Arena, and roar my battle cry to the moon before, once again, going on the prowl.

_Yes!_ Yes, that's where I need to go. I need to get away from this place because ever since I came here this place has smelled like death.

I have meager supplies, and perhaps the city will prove more fruitful. I haven't gotten any Sponsor gifts, not since the claws, but I'm not going to dwell on that.

Now, my pack is secured on my back, and my cycle roars to life beneath me. The trees are uniformly spread in this area, and there seems to be a direct path out of here- strange, unorthodox, but that is the world we live in today, isn't it? One where 24 children are thrown into a place called the Arena and told to murder each other while the world watches in varying degrees of horror and revulsion and fascination.

I'm out of the forest faster than once could say _mouse._

On the way to familiar territory. If there is a city, that means there are streets and back alleys and niches that I can find and abuse. There's a reason I was the head of one of the most feared street gangs in District 5. I intend to use every skill in my repertoire to my advantage.

It takes me only an estimated half-hour to reach my destination, and I dismount the bike, catching the baton as it falls to the ground in one smooth motion.

I've not taken two steps from where I swung off the cycle when I'm stopped, frigid iron biting into the hollow of my throat.

_Keep your calm, Foster._ Closing my eyes for a brief second, I blow out a long breath. Then look down the blade at the boy, who's grip on the sword is steady like nothing else. As if he's spent years with a weapon in his hand.

Indeed it is someone from a Career District that meets my eyes. But his name is one that is not associated with acts of direct violence.

Instead, it is the famed Eel of District 4, Mikail Drakil, that holds his leaf-shaped blade to my throat, and his ocean-eyes do not hold any kind of recognition as he takes my face in. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't spill your throat on the ground."

I swallow, and the point of the sword digs into my throat. It's only going to take a duck and a single swipe to spill this boy's organs on the ground.

So, in response, I hold up my hand. Flick my fingers, one by one, and let the steel claws slide out of their hiding place.

This gives him pause. Makes him study my hands for a good five seconds before he lowers his sword. "Asher Foster. Leader of the Coyotes. Right?"

I nod.

Every District has its street gangs, and we have our ways of communicating with one another. We might not ever meet, except save for the few message runners each gang has, but we hear about each other, along with the rumors and legends of each leader of their respective clans.

"Mikail Drakil." The other boy holds out his hand, but takes one look at my gloves and pulls it back, a smirk flitting across his face. "Nice claws."

I match the dark expression. "Thanks. Nice sword."

Mikail glances down at the weapon in his hand, held loosely as if it's a simple household object instead of an instrument of death. Nods, as if acknowledging its beauty as well as the compliment, before looking back up. The sly expression in his eyes is clear.

Just like that. All it takes is a few years of indirect communication and a shared goal. A shared position, and a mutual understanding.

We're in business, and ready for bloodshed. It's time to show everyone who we are, make them remember our names, and know who we are.

It might take a monster to gut one, but if that's the title we have to take to get to the top, then so be it.

And when it's just the two of us left, and the Arena is stained red, I will add Mikail Drakil's name to the twisted scorecard that already holds two names.

The Wolfchild is on the prowl, and this Arena is my hunting ground.

o0o

**Halliday Frost (18) District One Tribute**

When I catch Sash side-eyeing me for the _eighteenth _time tonight as I pace circles around our campout beside the Spiral Course, I've had enough. "_What?"_

Sash blinks. "What _what?"_

I scowl at him, stopping my movements to cross my arms and raise an eyebrow at him. "You've been acting like a jumpy jackrabbit around me ever since I killed Jordan. What's up?"

He shifts on his feet, brown eyes dark as he stares at the fire we've somehow managed to get going, salvaging wood from the forest and using parts of the Cornucopia to strike up a spark. "That's exactly it, I think. That you killed someone, Just like that."

I glare. "I'm a _Career,_ Sash. I was trained for this. I've watched this happen my entire life. When it boils right down to it, what do you expect me to do? Roll over, show my belly, and play nice? I didn't think you were that sort of person."

Sash puts his hands up. "Hey, hey, cool your jets there, Halliday!" My nostrils flare at his reprimand, but he pays no heed as he continues. "I'm just… unused to this, I suppose. I don't mean any disrespect."

_Smooth._ He knows he's treading on thin ice.

It's tempting to just lay into him right here and now. He's not even a fully-trained Career for god's sake. All he knows how to do is shoot some things. He might be skilled, but I don't think he has the heart for killing, even if he slaughtered his District partner in the Bloodbath. On top of all that, he's been so distant lately. Staring off at the horizon, the yawning, black vortex above us that just waits to claim its next victims and display their faces in the sky one final time before they vanish forever.

_And yet I still chose him as my ally._ It's a decision I've questioned numerous times over the last few hours. Sash didn't have a problem locating, stalking, and shooting a squirrel we came across on our way out of the forest for dinner tonight, even with his injury, but I know I could do that just as well with the bow if I were the one wielding it. _Much as I hate to admit, all he is to me right now is companionship and a meat shield. _

Companionship is important in human life, yes, but sometimes, like now, it's only going to slow me down. Sash has to go. He's maimed, and although his arm seems to have healed a bit due to the medicine we received, it's clear the painkillers are wearing off and he's feeling the full extent of his injuries. _He was only able to make that shot because of the painkillers,_ I realize. _Once we run out, he's dead._

_He's dead, and I'm the one who's going to have to kill him. _I know instinctively that I'm going to offer the quickest, cleanest death out of anyone here except maybe Thames or Lauren, but Lauren doesn't seem to have the stomach for killing and Thames is with Aegis. There's no relation between the word _painless_ and the name _Aegis Harlow._

A blow to the nervous system should do it. Shut everything down, fast and efficient. _I just need to find a good time to make m-_

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Sash's question startles me, and I take an involuntary step back. His voice has become guarded, and the chocolate-brown of his arms has hardened, icing over and his voice is scarily low as he stands up, a hand going to his bow.

"Don't bother," I scoff. "We both know that you can't do much of anything in the state you're in-"

Faster than the eye can track, Sash has an arrow nocked and the bowstring half-drawn, gaze frozen as he stares at me down the shaft of the arrow. "Say that again."

My temper rises, and I open my mouth, tongue turning to silver as I narrow my eyes.

Luckily, whatever I'm about to say, however I'm about to flay into him, is interrupted by the parachute that plummets out the sky and thuds into the ground at my feet. Both of us close our mouths, record fast, and blink at it.

Alright.

Message received.

Sash offers up a weak smile. "I guess verbal sparring doesn't suit the Capitol, at least not as well as physical sparring, does."

I take his half-assed apology with a nod and about as much grace as I can muster, before picking up the package. It's glowing emerald green, signifying it's for me.

Sash gestures for me to open it.

I do so. Inside is a ring. A beautiful ring, admittedly, the sapphire gemstone glittering in the Arena lighting. It's a gorgeous piece of jewelry, even I can see that. Small, intricately tinkered diamonds are nestled in among the woven bands of silver, and it's a perfect fit as I slide it experimentally onto my right ring finger.

It feels so right, sitting there, and contrasts so terribly with the emptiness and nausea that settles in the pit of my stomach.

And that's when the world stops spinning, it's like the farewell room in the Justice Building back in District 1 all over again and someone has punched their claws straight into my chest and wrapped steel-cold talons around my heart.

That shattering feeling is back again. The kind that fills me to the brink and overflows, spilling out secrets and emotions and my darkest thoughts that I never wanted anyone else to see and now it feels as if I'm transparent.

And it's horrible and awful and sordid and I hate it, I hate it with every fiber of my being, so much that I'm vibrating where I stand, and all I can hear is the roar of blood in my ears.

There's nothing but red filling my vision as I throw myself at him, my momentum and weight bearing my former ally to the ground. Every thought of a painless death has long since fled from my mind.

It's easy enough to shove a knife into his heart and slide the other across his throat.

o0o

**Ambrose Volta (14) District Five Tribute**

_I hope Lauren is staying safe. _A quick, hurried glance over my shoulder proved that Killian wasn't hot on my trail, and by logic, he'd be going after Lauren instead. We had parted ways too fast for us to agree on any sort of rendezvous point, and I can only pray that we can work on the fly. Lauren's smart. She'll know what to do. Right?

I shake the thought from my head like a cobweb. Lauren _will_ know what to do. She's four years my senior and knows the Hunger Games well enough to know escape strategies. Maybe not how to escape a psychopath on a motorcycle, chasing you and breakneck speed across a city, but escape strategies nonetheless. _Come on, Lauren. I believe in you._

My own surroundings speed past me, and I'm going far too fast to take in any of the buildings. _I gotta slow down._ I'd just blow right by Lauren if she somehow lost Killian and came to regroup, and it wouldn't be good for Sponsors if we just ran right past each other and had to go on a chase _then._ Plus, I don't know what these things run on, what kind of fuel powers them, but this bike is the only form of mobility I have in my inventory at this point. I need to save it, in case I need to make a swift retreat- or jump right into combat.

I slow down, continuing at an easy cruise, taking stock of my surroundings now that the danger has seemingly passed. This place looks oddly familiar- the looming structures, exuberant and luxurious, even without the bright colors and spark that the Capitol so often favours. _Is this place really modeled after the Capitol layout? That seems sort of risky. _I've heard stirrings of a rebellion- rumors traveling down through the Districts, from wandering traders that roam the wilderness between our settlements. Rumor has it that the grumblings started in District 2- strange because they seem to be the Capitol lap-dog: supplying armor, weapons, Peacekeepers, you name it, District 2 gives it to the Capitolites by the crateful.

And Aegis Harlow is still alive. Granted, I have no idea where he and his allies are at this very moment, but if he got to this place and won the Games… I could see him as a rebel. He certainly gives off that vibe at times, dark and brooding, but with so much more beneath inky waters than what meets the eye.

_Why am I worrying about District 2 right now?_ I should be worrying about _me!_ Me, and Lauren, who could currently be getting mauled to death by some sort of artistic serial killer with a lust for blood. _And I just abandoned her?_ Just peeled away, without a second thought or a glance back? _That's not right._

I kick the bike into a higher gear and spin around. _Allies don't just ditch their friends at the first sight of danger._

_Hang on, Lauren. I'm coming._

The scenery and buildings are back to a black and blue blur as I hightail down the roads, careening around corners, trying desperately to remember the way I got to my previous location. _Left? No, no, right. Haven't I been here before? Keep going, keep going. Lauren has to be around here somewhere!_

I'd yell for her, try to get her attention, let her know I'm coming to help and that I'm not alone, and I have a knife, that I can fight, but it would be pointless. I'm going to fast and my voice is too muffled for me to be of any good.

I'm charging along, going fast, quicker than a cheetah on the plains of District 5. Too fast.

I don't see the trail of red that appears in front of me, seemingly out of thin air, as real and solid as the air that is no longer in my lungs as my bike slams into it at high velocity, throwing me forward as it dissolves into pixels beneath me.

I land, skidding on the unforgiving Arena floor, my joints groaning in pain and flaring up at my skinned elbows and knees as I struggle to rise. _What the hell was that?_

I'm still trying to regain my feet when I hear him. It's the sound of nightmares behind me, a voice that sends shivers up my spine, and the unattached, dispassionate voice of Killian Doppelmen sounds behind me. "There you are."

_His light trail,_ I realize distantly. _I thought those were just for show. What the hell did it do to me?_ I grope around for my pack, trying in vain to get to my knife, but Killian's dismounted from his own bike and is on me in a flash, a dagger at my throat and something small and lensed- a- a camera?- in his other hand. "You've caused a whole lot of trouble for me, recently, Ambrose Volta."

He drags the knife upwards, the point leaving small spots of blood in its wake as he slides silver steel to my lips, laying the knife flat against them.

I stare up at him, frantic, and he smiles down at me. Pushes down on my shoulders, driving me into the ground. I'm utterly helpless, easy as a lamb lead to the slaughterhouse, and this is where the killing happens, doesn't it? This is where I'm executed, but unlike the lambs, I will not be offered a stun and a quick death.

Not at the hands of this man.

No, there is no such stun at all, because Killian sweeps the knife between my teeth, the blade slim enough to slip between my bite as I snap at it, desperate to waylay the sure agony that is to come.

Every effort I make is in vain, though, as Killian continues slowly, painstakingly, drinking in my every reaction, a noticeable thrill running through him every time I make a particularly frantic move.

But he soon grows tired of simply watching, and wants to _do._ Wants to _do_ something more, to inflict the pain, and begins to _cut,_ rending flesh and muscle from my body, a gleeful cackle in his throat and a sick light in his eyes while he does it.

I can't stop the scream as I see the first piece of flesh- _my_ flesh- fall to the Arena floor, pale and bloody against the black ground. The agony turns distant, if only for a moment, and everything except that little bit of _me_ that's been _separated_ from me is the only thing I see.

Killian's melodic, if slightly deranged voice is the last thing I hear before the world begins its final fade to black around me. _"Smile, everyone is watching…"_

o0o

**Killian Doppelmen (18) District Six Tribute**

Her screams are beautiful. Resonating in my ears, down my spine, sending thrills through my entire body as the girl fights back beneath me, howling as I drag the knife through her face. Her blood stains my hands, my arms, the air around me. And it makes me feel _alive._ She's started screaming at some point- she's screaming and I love it.

Without this, the euphoria of this performance, of every performance, I will become too sick of living, but unwilling to die, and that is a horrible way to exist in this world.

This world, where there are so many art forms available and so many shows to put on, and so many people will view my work and cry.

It's the majesty of the kill that soars through my veins, the high of her death scream riding in my bloodstream.

Ambrose Volta is now a limp, lifeless corpse beneath me, blood pooling around her head and speckling the blade of my knife. The two pieces of her I have cut out- parts of her cheek, her mouth opening now extending from ear to ear, forever locked in a morbid smile.

An eternal smile.

She was young and beautiful, but now she is battered and dead.

I am not yet sick. I am insane, but that will not stop my performance. That will not stop any of this. The camera in my hands proves that- this beauty and dance and duet that has unfolded in these past moments caught in film reel, preserved for the nation to see. Eternalized in every viewer's vision, emblazoned in their minds and behind their eyelids as they close their eyes and relive the performance I have laid out for them this day.

I look down at the camera, now stained with the rust-colored substance that costs the majority of my body, and can't stop my own smile from spreading across my face.

There is nothing that can stop me from spreading this magnificence from across Panem now. When I die, this device shall go on, carrying my legacy with it.

Holding the camera out at an angle, so that everyone surely watching this will get a good view, I find the replay button. And press it, fully re-immersing myself in the events that happened not a minute ago, the still-warm corpse of my newest victim lying mutilated before me.

_The girl was young and stupid and thus was her downfall. A selfless mistake that ends in her death. The video begins with me dismounting my own bike after intercepting hers- the engine on her light cycle so loud I could hear her a mile out. It didn't take any strategic genius to develop the plan of taking her off the cycle and eliminating any chance of escape before I would make my move. _

_I am a thrill-seeker, I love the rush and stimulation I get from watching them thrash and struggle, begging for mercy and howling in pain. The killing for most like me is an afterthought as if it's an encore, something to leave behind, but it is all part of the final act for me. This was her curtain call, and what a majestic, resounding one it was. _

_She died hard. She went to the slaughter like a lamb and put up a struggle. It was a ball. She squirmed as I choked her, and her lips twitched. She let out a single, high-pitched scream, and I stabbed her in the side to shut her up. It only made her howl again, so I kicked her in the head. She went limp for a few moments after that, but after I plunged my second knife into her side to wake her up, she began crying out again. That knife I put into her body broke: a shame to lose such a good blade._

_Normally, I would have finished the job by slitting her throat. _

_But she was no young damsel on the streets or alleys of District 6. She was Ambrose Volta, from District 5, one step above me, and she was a tribute of the 26th annual Hunger Games. And what do tributes do? Tributes die. They are sacrificed for the Capitol's amusement, and while I do not like playing lapdog or approve of conforming, I could sate myself with this. For now. _

_With this bloodshed and massacre._

_This girl does not smile nearly enough, I thought to myself, at that moment. So why not send her back home with one permanently on her face? Not such a bad way to go, and this way, she will always be smiling when she reaches the promised lands._

_The shadow song was irresistible, and it guided my hands as I twisted the knife through her flesh, it moving easily through flesh and muscle, disconnecting sinew from vein and the first part of her body, the part that did not belong, that hid her large, forever-there smile from the world, fell away. _

_The second followed not long after, and the smile across her throat, red and matching the liquid pooling around her head, was the final, easy touch. _

_And, of course, my calling card. _

_My MO, my initials written out beside the kill, in her blood,_

_K. D. _

_The Virtuoso._

The video ends.

And then the parachute falls from the sky. It contains a few buttered biscuits, still hot, a Tupperware container of well-done steak, and a bottle of water. Attached to its neck is a single tag, with jagged, writing written in dark red ink scrawled across the manilla of the paper.

_Long live the Virtuoso._

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District One Tribute**

The hue of a new night sparkles over the dimming blue lights of the Arena. A mockingbird- the first sign of life besides the rabbit that we've seen in this horrid land- flutters in the coolness of the twilight, blinking dark eyes that glint like amber in the fading glow of the Arena. She twitters her gratitude aloud in a clear voice that slides through the silence like a fish does through water- calm and sure and beautiful. With a twitch, she hops to a new perch, barely rustling the branches of these strange trees. But a bond more fragile than spider silk is shattered as she lifts herself from the branch, allowing a single leaf to flutter down on its own breeze.

It tumbles through the air, lazy and graceful like it has all the time in the world, dancing in and out of the light and shadows cast by the crisscrossing grid of the Arena floor. Finally, it comes to rest and is gently stirred by a puff of breath as Aegis Harlow exhales slowly, a sigh as he comes into wakefulness. Blinking heavy, inky eyes open, he lets out a lion's yawn, the resulting rush of air blowing the leaf down to the floor as he sits up, stretching his arms over his head. "Hey, Thames." A soft smile is sent my way, as he moves away from the tree he was leaning against as he dozed. "How you holding up?"

I hesitate at the question. There is nothing but pure, undiluted honesty and concern in Aegis' eyes, and still, I falter. A familiar line of thought is rapping at the doors of my head. _Burden, revolting, just keep your mouth shut and head down, don't cause any more trouble than you already have. _

And yet the gates shielding my mind remain steady. Adamant and unbreakable, because it's Aegis who's asking the question. Aegis, who understands flaws, and has been nothing but beautiful and transparent with me. I should give him nothing less in return. The burns on my arm flare up slightly in agreement, but it is a welcome pain this time, one that reminds me of all that I have to fight for. Sitting here, beside me, his head tipped back to the darkened sky that shows the first sign of reality, the twinkling of stars throwing reassurance and a small amount of encouragement into the air.

"Not- not well," I admit. It's a weak response, and not one Aegis deserves, but it's the best I can muster. Everything's just- crashed down on me so hard, the events of the last few days and what I've done- I have blood on my hands, now.

When not four days ago I had preached that we are not bred for bloodshed.

What a hypocrite I am.

It's painful to think about. A slim, wicked dagger slipped between my ribs, directly into the organ that keeps the lifeblood flowing through my veins. It thuds, gives a few, desperate spasms before stuttering, resuming its previous rhythm after skipping a few beats.

I'm glad that the dagger was metaphorical.

My scattered, if not mildly gruesome metaphors drag me back into the present, where the Hunger Games are in progress around me. Where I am a tribute in the Arena, and every move I make is going to be broadcasted on life TV across Panem if there's not a fight going on somewhere else right at this moment.

If my assumptions are correct, and the display Aegis and I have made of ourselves up until this point, then every Capiolite and District citizen eye is on us.

Right now.

It's almost enough to make me shatter as I did at the interviews, but now, there will be no privacy and opportunity for me to crumble into the sanctuary of Aegis' arms and let him hold me until the sun comes up.

Even if I feel like I must be open with him, I cannot say or do the same for the rest of the world.

"It's our first night away from the others, Age," I whisper. The subject change is painfully obvious, but Aegis simply shifts at my side, wrapping a hand around my waist. _Go on,_ his touch assures me. _I'm listening._

"It's our first night alone." I reiterate as if that will somehow link these words to our previous, if brief, discussion. Aegis, thankfully, doesn't comment or try and bring us back to whatever _he_ was originally trying to say. Instead, he twists around, the Arena light reflecting in his dark eyes, glinting off mirrors of unwavering kindness and support. "You're not alone," he says, with painstaking clarity. "You have me."

I duck my head under the gentleness of his gaze. "That's not what I meant, Age."

He raises an eyebrow. "Then _we_ are still not alone." He tugs me closer, nestling me up against his side, hand curling protectively around my hip. Normally, I would protest such actions, but... this is Aegis. It's _Aegis_, and he makes everything beautiful. I rest my head against his chest and listen to the vibrations of his voice as he points at the sky. "We have the stars, Thames. The stars and the moon and constellations."

His fingers tug and sift through my hair, gentle as the wings of a butterfly, and I can't help the small break in my voice as I ask, "Show me?"

There is no hesitation in his movements as he points up. "That's the Big Dipper." His finger traces a path across a starlit sky, and supernovas explode in my chest as I watch.

"That's the North Star, right there." He points out a single star, shining brighter than all the rest. "And _that_," he purrs, a chuckle rumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, "is the Great Pancake."

Laughter, golden and astonishing, bubbles up inside me. Spills out, uncontained. "Age, there is no such thing as the _Great Pancake!"_ Aegis simply smiles down at me, and those inkwell eyes are lit up from the inside with an indescribable glow. And his beauty steals my breath away.

For now. Just for this one night, maybe this world, torn and bloodied as it is, could be ours. Ours. Just for tonight.

**o0o**

**9th: Sash Radcliffe, 16, District Eight Tribute (Submitted by **_**ShippingDeity**_**) Killed by a dagger across the throat and through the heart, courtesy of Halliday Frost. Sash… Sash, after my own heart, a rockstar and band player and just generally a more badass version of me. Only thing missing is the keyboard instead of a bass. Heh. But back to his character… holy rutting hell. So much fun to write, so easy, I could sing this guy's praises to the moon because what a **_**dynamic**_ **character. I didn't want to see him go so soon, but with this Sponsor gift and suggestion that came along with it, it was too good of an opportunity for me to turn down, and also give Halliday another kill. Sash, bud, you were already maimed, and I think you knew this moment was coming from the moment Halliday looked up from whatever was in that box. Rest in peace, Sash Radcliffe. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 1/1/3]**

**8th: Ambrose Volta, 14, District Five Tribute (Submitted by **_**dsalazz**_**) Killed by a slit throat, courtesy of Killian Doppelman. Ambrose… okay, I don't necessarily enjoy the fact that I only have two other girls alive in this Arena. I really don't. But in the end, I suppose everyone else does have to go, and only one can walk out alive. Unfortunately, Ambrose, that one wasn't you, despite your wonderful demeanor and potential within this story. Rest in peace, Ambrose Volta. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**o0o**

**Alliances:**

_**Angels and Demons: **_**Thames Venturi (D1M) and Aegis Harlow (D2M)**

_**Ice has Melted Back to Life: **_**Halliday Frost (D1F)**

_**Danger and Diplomacy: **_**Lauren Silver (D3F)**

_**Claws and Cruelty: **_**Mikail Drakil (D4M), Asher Foster (D5M)**

_**Living on the Edge of Insane:**_ **Phoenix/Killian Doppelmen (D6M),**

**o0o**

**A/N: And another chapter written and posted! I hope you all enjoyed reading it! I certainly know it was a blast to write, even if *winces* there was some pretty gruesome stuff going on. Apologies if I made anyone lose their appetite. The next chapter, **_**Over the Edge, **_**will be in the works tomorrow, although September 11th may be an unrealistic publish date because I have two other things I need to have completed by then. But either way, my goal is to have chapter 30 out before next Tuesday. Praying that I can achieve that.**

**Sash and Ambrose are both dead, and with the tragic death of the rockstar that is bound to shake Panem to its newly laid foundations, the lower Districts have been eliminated.**

**Thames and Aegis are in the forest, Halliday is at the Spiral Course, Lauren is in the city, and so are Mikail, Asher, and Killian.**

**We have seven remaining in the Arena! Best of luck to everyone else out there, and may the odds be ever in your favor!**

**Fun fact of the chapter: Parts of Killian's PoV were inspired by a few of the letters left behind as the famed, still unidentified Zodiac Killer.**

**-THE REMAINING SECTION OF THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE DEPICTS GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND THE DARK, DARK THOUGHTS OF THE AUTHOR. PROCEED WITH CAUTION-**

**Alrighty, I figured I would explain what exactly Killian did to Ambrose for like, the one other person out there that's interested. What he did was cut out parts of her cheeks, in a sort of crescent pattern, so it looks like she has a massive smile going literally from ear to ear. The reason why the cause of her death wasn't blood loss, is because human beings are surprisingly resilient. I mean, you can survive getting stabbed in the back by a one-foot long knife six-ten times if you're lucky and no major organs were hit. **

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever **_**in your favor,**

**~SetFires (Vixen)**


	30. Over the Edge

"_Like stars in darkness glow so bright_

_You once told me I'd have to dim my light_

_My mystic being, held by gravity_

_I almost let you hold me back from everything…"_

_~Goddess (Elport X Cadmium)_

o0o

**Aegis Harlow (18) District Two Tribute**

"A-Aegis?" My head jerks up at the noise, Thames' voice still weak and a dry rasp in his chest. Hazy golden eyes blink open, still unfocused, blinking and trying to adjust from sleep into the waking world.

"Hey, Thames," I smile down at him, and his face slowly lights up, reaching a hand up to run it across my cheekbone.

"You're- you're here?" He sounds surprised by this.

I raise a brow. "Where else would I be?"

Sitting up, the boy from One sighs and rubs at his eyes, before lacing an arm around my neck and resting his head on my shoulder. "I wasn't sure if I dreamed everything up."

"Everything?"

A nod. "Like… everything. The Games, last night, _you_…"

My heart gives a pang. "I'm real, Thames."

"I know," he mumbles back, twisting his head so the words are muffled against my skin. "I know, I know, I know. But…" he pauses, and I turn to look at him, brow furrowed. "But sometimes I wish this was all a dream," he confesses. _He said dream,_ I note. _Not a nightmare._

"I understand." I _understand_ the feeling of wishing you could just wake up from this horrible situation and be safe in your bed back home, without having to deal with all of these _feelings._ We're trained Careers. Go in, slaughter the rest, as we were trained to do, and come back out victorious. We aren't _supposed_ to develop feelings for each other. We aren't supposed to get attached to anything that could prove a liability later on, when everything comes down to the wire and it's two of us left. The Capitol isn't going to _want_ a sobbing mess of two Tributes who keep arguing about who kills the other. They're going to want a long, bloody battle, not what we're going to offer.

Thames lets out a soft noise and presses his face into the juncture of my shoulder and neck, and I hold him there.

We remain like that for a while, I holding him and he resting against me, enjoying the peace and quiet of this moment. The peace and quiet of _us._

And yet even this moment of solidarity cannot last. Not in the pit of hellfire we're living in. And the interruption comes in one of the worst forms possible.

I'd almost forgotten about the massive, metallic dog that we'd seen during the Bloodbath. The one that had ripped Elwood Liang clean in half. After the first few hours afterwards and the creature making no new appearance, I'd just assumed it was put in the Arena as an initial scare and would never show up again. But here it is. Prowling towards us, whirring and blue eyes gleaming in the matching lights of the Arena.

Beside me, Thames goes tight and tense and sits up straight again, a hand going to the spear on his back.

But halfway to us, the wolf pauses.

It chuffs, a metallic sounding wuff of air, and stops in its tracks.

Something inside the thing _whirrs_, and it makes a low, humming noise. Like something powering down.

Indeed, it lowers itself onto its haunches into a crouch, looking at us with those unnerving eyes, resting its head on its front paws.

Thames makes a noise of confusion by my side. "Um. What?"

The wolf makes another _whirr,_ and a beam of light shoots from… somewhere and focuses on the single pack I managed to grab before the Cornucopia blew sky-high.

"Does it want something?" I study the dog. Look over at the pack. All that's in there is a few medical supplies, the rest of the burn ointment, a few packages of crackers and a water canteen and…

The realization hits me like a thunderbolt.

"It's mechanical… right? So it has to run on gasoline or kerosene or whatever I got in that Sponsor gift." I turn to Thames "And I still have some left…"

"This is a bad decision," Thames mutters, as I kneel down beside the dog and unscrew the plating on its side.

"I am the king of bad decisions," I inform him loftily, and tip the rest of the gasoline into the animal automata, and screw the plate back into place.

It takes a few moments for the gasoline to reach the appropriate systems, but when it does, everything jolts back to life. The great metal dog sits back and blinks, eyes whirring as they seem to scan us, taking us in. Thames tenses beside me, a hand on his spear, gritting down on the pain as he prepares to fight or run- whichever proves more effective.

But before either of us can make a move, the dog makes a mechanic huffing sound, tail wagging across the floor of the Arena, cocking its head to the side and swiveling its ears.

Thames frowns. "Why isn't it attacking us?"

"I don't think it'd attack something that just saved it's life."

Indeed, all the wolf- FANG- does is sit there. Stick its mechanical tongue out, which is weird in _so_ many ways, cock its head to the side, and look at us with those unnerving blue eyes. They match the light of the Arena perfectly.

I don't know how much time we stare at the thing and it stares back at us. We probably would have stood there for another few hours when FANG's ears stand up straight, and it rises onto all fours with a growl rumbling low in its throat.

"Shit," Thames mutters, tensing beside me once more. But the growl seems to be directed at the forest, more towards the treeline, and FANG tips its head to the side. As if listening. Taking the cue, Thames and I do the same, and then I pick it up. The thudding of paws on earth. Coming this way.

"We need to go," I breathe, and FANG seems to have the same idea, letting out a huff of air or steam or whatever the fuck it is, and starts herding us away, pacing around the two of us before we break into a run. Then, he lopes alongside us, long legs easily eating up the ground,

FANG howls a warning, and we skid to a stop just in time.

We're standing at the edge of a ravine, a deadly drop below us, and there are other mutts right on our heels.

We're trapped.

o0o

**Mikail Drakil (18) District Four Tribute**

Asher's dead silent as we make our way through the city. Not a single sound comes from him, vocal or otherwise, and if I'm being completely honest, it's a bit unsettling. I'm used to the chatter of the rest of a gang as I went around my day back in District 4, and even in the Arena, I'd hum quietly to myself just so that the silence wouldn't get to me. Get to my head.

If this is an intimidate tactic, something to throw me off my game, it's certainly working. And if the Wolfchild wasn't my ally, I'd respect the strategy. But we _are_ allies, and we're going to have to form some sort of bond of trust beside the one we have, which is more fragile than shattered ribbons.

I won't be the first one to break the silence though. This silence may be a poison to me, because in this void of sound the shallowness of whatever conversation may spring up is laid bare. Where the potential of intellectual, understanding banter lay is now utterly vapid. Whipped, broken, and bridled. Yes, this silence may be poison, but I will drink it willingly for the reward of remaining unbroken.

If he won't talk, then neither shall I. All alliances in the Hunger Games end anyway, when everything reaches the ultimate peak and only the strongest survive. Only one will survive, and that one _will _be me. There will be no other Victor. If the road there is lined with shattered glass and hot coals that I must walk over on bare feet, then I'll bear it.

I almost want to shove my hands into my pockets as we continue to walk, but I remember just in time that these suits don't have pockets, to keep from embarrassing myself. My sword swings at my side, and I run a hand over its pommel, taking reassurance in the knowledge that I have a weapon and I can draw and use it if needed, that I can gut anyone coming to cross our path within a heartbeat.

With my focus on weapons, my eyes trail to the gloves that Asher wears. So comfortably, as if he doesn't have death itself at his fingertips, ready to answer his beck and call. A fitting weapon for a son of wolves, I suppose, although it's a bit on the nose. Poisons or a dagger is more my style- more like the Eel of District 4, with a sharp-edged tongue and glittering eyes, ready to assassinate victims, bursting from the shadows without warning to slit a throat or bury an axe into their stomach.

Although I suppose Asher is just as deadly. Wearing his weapons for all to see, on his hands, at his sides. Even if my sword is bare against my side, the metal warm from my body heat. It's not _me._ The gang leader walking beside me is completely in his element, though. A swaggering grace and charm, easy and seemingly aloof, unbreakable against the horrors of this world.

An assassin and a murderer. Is that what we will be called by the time these Games are over? I have no objection to the title. Assassin means brains, while murderer means brawn. Anyone can be a murderer, but it takes guts to be an assassin. To slip into someone's mind, to someone's home and most personal thoughts and predict their every move, and to kill them slyly, on the downlow, when no one will notice and you can slink away into the shadows, unseen. Unheard and unknown, as panic erupts around you.

All a murderer has to do is walk up to someone and swing a sword, or pummel them to death in a back alley. There is no grace there, behind the movements, there is no meaningful motive. An assassin is an _artist._

Although there will be no time for art here. There will be no time for meticulous weeks of planning once we all come together. Then I must act on instinct alone and rely on my wits and my sword to keep me standing through the last, blood-drenched moments.

We come out of the city, and still, not a word has been spoken between us. Asher silently points towards the spiralling loop of road that rises out of the ground, and I nod. That is where we will set up base and wait for the rest of the tributes to stream into the lamb pen so we can slaughter them and cloak ourselves in their blood.

There is no roar of light cycles as we walk up the various ramps and paths in order to reach the top of the Spiral Course. All there is is stillness. A hush, that settles over the two of us as we begin to lay out supplies and prepare for the night ahead and whatever it may bring.

There will be few words spoken between us.

And so the last thing our enemies will hear is the silence of annihilation.

o0o

**Aegis Harlow (18) District Two Tribute**

Looking closer at the drop-off, which is covered in the same latticework that the rest of the Arena is, I can see that there are little ripples in the dips and corners of the lines, proof that the cliff does indeed have hand and footholds. Something to hold onto, should someone go sprawling over the edge. _Here's to hoping that none of us have to find out whether those holds are actually enough to save a life._

The three of us- because FANG is with us now, its allegiances, for this moment, are clear- turn. The mutts will be breaking through the trees at any moment, and the only options we have are to jump or to fight. And I'd rather die with a weapon in my hand than throw myself off a cliff like a coward. There is no honor in that.

My sword whines as I draw it free of its sheath. It shines in the Arena light, the broad silvery metal cool to my touch as I run my palm along the flat of the blade before leveling it and planting my feet. Beside me, Thames lets the spear elongate in his hand, and his treasure-chest eyes shutter closed, face going cold as he prepares for battle. FANG, a formidable force in its own right, lets out a snarl, mechanisms whirring as it drops into a crouch, this time prepared to leap into the fray and wreck havoc on whatever's about to explode out of the forest.

The first creature comes tearing into view, and something in me recoils at its flat face and inhuman eyes as it lunges for Thames, mouth gaping wide, exposing long, viciously pointed fangs.

The other Career takes the animal on his spear, driven back a step by the force of it, and throws it to the ground, off his weapon, bits of the things fur and guts still sticking to the spearhead.

But that first mutt opened the floodgates, and they begin to appear at the edge of the treeline, howling and snarling as they run down the stretch of ground between us, gaining speed and flinging themselves on us as soon as they're in range. It's not the most effective way of killing us-it could be, if they have strength in numbers.

Which they do: there are so many of them. Too many to count as they continue pouring from the forest, howling and barking shrilly. FANG acts as a barrier- a bottleneck, forcing the waves back and ripping into the ones that don't, but even the metal wolf is forced to yield step after step because of the sheer _number_ of the creatures flooding onto our little plateau. It takes all my strength to heave one off me that's landed there so I can face the next three that storm towards me, sidestepping the first two and beheading the third, sending them over the edge into the river below.

The fight goes on and on and on. There is no pause to breathe, no offered respite.

I don't know where Thames or FANG are. I don't know where they've been swept off too, except I know that they haven't gone over the edge, or I would have heard a scream from Thames if he were forced over that drop.

But even with that knowledge, there is no reassurance that Thames is alive and that FANG has not been overrun. For all I know, FANG could be a heap of scrap metal beneath the tan pelts that just keep _coming _and _coming_ and _coming,_ and Thames could be a limp body piled beneath the mutts he killed on during his final stand. _No. They are not dead. I refuse to believe such a thing._

But… the things seemed to have grouped back. To have rallied, farther up the way, closer to the treeline, and they're getting ready to charge again. To perhaps throw me, the only visible obstacles standing in my way, over the edge of the cliff face. _Is this the part where I die?_ It can't be.

There's too much I have in my heart that I must settle, there are too many words that have gone unsaid that must be voiced, and be voiced by my lips alone. The necklace at my throat proves that, and my hand strays to my token. _Leo. _

In this Arena, Thames might be the one I protect with my life, but he will fall, in the end, and when it all comes down to to the core of things, Leo is the one for me.

It's him.

It's always been him.

And with the way things went in during our goodbyes, before I was shipped off to this hell of a place, covered with sparkles and luxury and opulence to hide the rotten interior, there is still much uncertainty between the two of us, and that cannot be so.

I have to make things right, and the only way to do that is to survive.

_There's a reason I allied with Thames, though._ An able-bodied fighter, powerful and skilled with a spear like no other. _I'm going to need him for a while yet._

_Where is he? Where is he where is he where is he-_

As if in answer to the thought, a cry rises above the noise and growls of the mutts, and there's a sudden wave of the creatures being thrown into the air. Thames hurtles towards me, golden eyes alight, FANG by his side, and behind them, a wave of howls and grunts and all other sounds under the sun crests and begins to crash down.

"_Move!" _Thames is screaming. "_Move, move, move!"_

Move? Move _where?_ Thames is gesturing wildly with his arm, and I look to where he is pointing. Look to the edge of the herd of mutts and, once again, _understand._ I scramble to the side, shield in hand as I dive to the side. I don't even know if this is going to work, but I'm going to have to try. Better this than certain death. I heave my shield up in front of me and scramble behind it, protecting myself as best I can against the impending wave. Plant the thing against the Arena ground, as best I can, throw my weight into it, and hope. Cling to that one kernel of light that lives somewhere inside me, lives somewhere deep inside all of us, and pray that it will keep me alive. I can barely make out the two figures that are Thames and FANG, skidding to a stop at the edge of the cliff. Barely see the way Thames uses FANG like I'm using my shield, and how those massive, lethal claws dig into the black ground and hold fast against the mutts that crash against them. I'm buffeted by wind and fur and the stink of them as they hurtle past me, but it's nothing compared to what my ally must be experiencing, as the mutts break and break against FANG's barrier, and fall to their deaths.

But even that mighty creature can only take so much.

And all I can do is watch as dog after dog goes flying off the cliff, and FANG and Thames go plummeting over the edge with the last of them.

o0o

**Lauren Silver (18) District Three Tribute**

By the time I reach her, it's too late. Ambrose Volta's body is a crumbled, bloody mess on the Arena floor, and the crimson letters by her body turn my vision to red. A calling card. A taunt, as if Killian is laughing at me from afar. Which he probably is.

But that knowledge doesn't stop me as I stumble to my knees beside my former ally, taking her cold, mutilated face in my hands and screaming, screaming to an abyssal sky that swallows pain and misery like the sweetest treat the Capitol can provide.

_Who would do such a thing? _And to someone so small… so young and innocent… _it should have been me. _It should be my body, my corpse lying here, not hers. _She was only 14. She had her whole life ahead of her. _She could have _lived,_ could have made a family back in District 5.

Every dead Tribute in this Arena had had that opportunity taken away from them. And for what? For a brief rush of sated bloodlust and amusement for the viewers back in the Capitol? _That's bullshit._

Everything's turned into a raging tempest that's swirling in my chest, and I don't know which emotion is which. Whirlwinds and riptides and thunderstorms are happening simultaneously and it's hard to focus on which storm to calm first. _Or I could just let go. Let all this out and show the world what I really think._

I've been playing the meek, quiet mediator for too long. I have my own ideas, my own passions and opinions, and I'll be damned if I die without the world hearing Lauren Silver.

And so I scream. I scream, and pour everything I know and feel into the scream. It echoes and rebounds, long into the daytime. I want people to turn off their televisions, block their ears, try to do anything and everything possible to get my scream out of their heads. I want them too, because it makes them want to cry and rip themselves apart. This scream is pure agony, the scream of a soul dying, and I want them to _hear _it and I want them to _know._

I'm beyond caring if my lament attracts others. It's either kill or be killed, and I'm done running. If I die, I die on my feet with my eyes open, or I don't die at all. Ambrose's knife is in my hand, the hilt heavy against my palm, an unfamiliar wait, but a strangely welcome one nonetheless.

It does seem like my howl has brought someone to me, however.

"Hello again, Lauren Silver." I whirl around at the voice, eyes wide to see Killian standing before me, one leg nonchalantly crossed over the other, leaning against his light cycle. I don't even want to know how he managed to keep it solid after he dismounted, but I do know that it pisses me off. Makes something ugly twist inside me at the thought, that someone so vicious and ruthless can be so cunning at the same time. He appears to be setting something up on his bike, looking to balance what looks to be a camera on the seat. _He'll be filming his own death scene._

He's wrapped in some sort of hood and cape garment, the robe long enough to trail around him as he moves, not long enough to hinder movement, but it gives him a certain dramatic flare. Probably what the Capitol wants. His hood is long enough to obscure most of his face, and it gives him all the sinister air of a viper poised to strike.

Not on my watch. My grip tightens on the knife, but still, it's Killian that makes the first move. He pushes off the bike in a sudden burst of speed, leaping for me, as if to tackle me to the ground. I bring up my knife, hoping to impale him on the blade as he comes towards me, but in a burst of movement, Killian twists aside, landing steadily, looking at me with those dead, dead eyes. I lunge, no finesse in my grip as I fling myself at him. Killian sidesteps easily, and that _stupid_ cloak whirls about as he spins and catches my arm on my next blow, dragging me towards him and using my own momentum against me as he hurls me to the ground. A snarl builds in my throat as I regain my feet. Killian just stares at me, his expression passive as I bare my teeth and throw my whole weight into the next attack.

Once again, he slips away, spinning back around to watch as I hit the ground rolling, rolling, shoulder barking in pain. I force myself back up onto a knee though, growling at him. My next strike is overhead, and he reaches up, grabbing hold of my arm again, and my stomach drops as he hurls me to the floor before delivering a vicious kick to my side with his booted foot that has me groaning in pain as my ribs bark and buckle in protest. I think I hear something snap, but I'm not sure as Killian steps back and finally draws his weapons.

_Now it's a true fight._ I heave myself upright, and the first ring of steel against steel rings out across the Arena. I think I'm gaining the upper hand as I bear down on his crossed blades, but Killian skitters back, fast and nimble, before lashing out with his own knife, a slender, wicked thing and it draws a line of fire and agony across my chest. Stumbling back, I place a hand over the wound, almost unable to believe it as everything begins to _throb_, and my hand comes away red.

Killain comes forward again and I'm forced to block his three offenseive strikes- center, underhand, overhead- before he spins off me, elbowing me in the back to send me to the ground once more.

"_You've lost," _voices whisper, in the back of my mind, poisonous and leeching. "_You've lost this battle, and it has cost you the war. There's no coming back from this." _Killian's beautiful face is twisted in something like disgust as his foot comes down hard on my hand, and the knife clatters out of my grip, a cry rising in my throat as my wrist shatters.

The Lauren of two minutes ago would have fought it. Would have clawed and bitten and scratched with every ounce of power left in this frail body to rise again and take this monster down. To live to fight another day, and perhaps see Wyre again. See my family again.

I am not that Lauren, though. And instead, I welcome the pain like an old friend. Welcome it, as Killian takes his knife and slits me open without a hint of remorse.

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District One Tribute**

The terrified howl of the mechanical dog is still ringing into my ears as we tumble over the cliff-face, desperately scrabbling for purchase, trying to find something to cling onto. My fingers find a tiny ledge in the stone and I latch on, desperate, even as my feet dangle in the open air, a lethal drop lurking below me.

"_Thames!"_ Aegis appears at the top of the cliff, his face drawn and pale from terror and pain. He's still bleeding heavily, and the blood trails down his left arm, which hangs at an awkward angle. His teeth are clenched through the pain though, and we stare at each other for a moment. There's no way he can pull me back up, not without injuring himself further, because even if his arm isn't already broken, it has to be sprained, and also hurt like hell. I try to yell back, but the pounding of the water below me drowns out my voice. _Let me go, Aegis._ It hurts to say- hell, it hurts to even think it- but I know I'm not going to survive this. This is how I die, plummeting to my death and snapping my neck on the rocks below, or maybe getting impaled on one of the sharp rocks jutting out of the river below.

I shake my head. _There's no use. Get out of here while you can._

"I'm not about to let you die!" Aegis' voice is panicked, the first time I've really seen the other Career abandon his cool, calm demeanor.

_You've got to._ Who knows how much noise we've made trying to get away from that attack, it could have drawn every surviving Tribute in this Arena straight to us. And in his condition, Aegis doesn't stand a fighting chance, not against Halliday or anyone else who might stumble across us.

Aegis shakes his head at me, this time, defiance in every aspect of his stance as he vanishes from my line of sight, presumably looking for a hefty stick to use as leverage to get me back onto flat ground. _He's not going to be able to find one. _The forest is too far back, and besides, there are hardly any fallen branches. With my luck, I would have tripped on one of them while we were fleeing the mutt pack.

I could always just let go. Aegis couldn't do a damn thing about it, with his back turned to me. It would probably save both of us massive amounts of grief and tears and who knows what other embarrassing things, in the long run.

And yet my fingers cling tight. I don't _want_ to die, though. Not yet. Not now. Part of my reason to continue breathing is searching for a way to save me. Parts of it are back home, watching this with bated breaths.

One of them is sitting in a room right now, cobalt eyes glittering at the screen set up before him, Sponsors lined up outside the door, waiting to be let in.

I hold fast.

At that very same moment, Aegis appears above me, clear desperation humming through his every move, his every word. "Thames, Thames, I can't find anything. I'm going to try to pull you back up!"

_That's not going to work, I'm too heavy._ I try once more to vocalize my thoughts, but Aegis either doesn't hear me or doesn't acknowledge what I'm saying. His hand appears over the edge, and grapples onto mine, and the two of us cling to each other, fingers lacing and interlocking.

"Hold _on!"_ Aegis roars from above me, eyes blazing. "Thames Venturi, don't you _dare_ let go."

My grip is slipping anyway. There's nothing I can do about it because my palms are sweaty. There's nothing I can do to dry them on my leg of my suit or something without letting go of his hand and plummeting to my death.

"You gotta try, Thames!" Aegis yells from above me. There's nothing in my head now but white noise and the roaring water, but his words cut through the fog. "You have to be helping too, I can't pull you up all on my own!"

I shove up with all my remaining strength, limbs burning, breath fire in my lungs and my arm socket aching, and Aegis heaves upward at the same time, every part of him visibly straining, pain and effort creasing his forehead. We work together, a single, collaborative effort… and I'm hauled back over the edge, both of us panting with exertion, sweat glistening on my lover's bronze skin as our eyes meet, gold connecting and colliding with darkened blue.

Then, his mouth covers mine, and all logic is gone: replaced by the smooth slide of his tongue against the seam of my lips. The rushing water churns below us, crashing and roaring against sharp, lethal rocks that would have no problem piercing fabric and the skin beneath. The fear and adrenaline are still running through me, fire in my veins and a song in my blood as Aegis pulls me closer. There is nothing soft in his kiss, and it's as unrelenting and sure as the river below. There's unyielding pressure, his body firm against mine as I slide a hand up along the broad planes of his back, tangling my fingers into his hair. His own are on the back of my neck and the curve of my ass respectively, kneading, pressing, making me see brilliant lights as he slips his tongue into my mouth. He coaxes mine into a dance- sure and resolute. Leading me effortlessly, showing me the way, though we've done this countless times before. It's our first kiss that hasn't been taken over by lust and bedroom passion, I realize. Because here, although the same feeling curls low in my gut, making me arch and groan, I can _feel _the emotion running through him. His hands, strong as they are, are still trembling from the effort of dragging me back over the cliff. He is not fearless, no- despite the fact that he faced the mutts down with his jaw set and head held high. There was true panic in his eyes as he led them to the edge of the cliff, FANG by his side. As he saw me, nearly pulled over the edge with them and the metal dog. Not fearless, but dauntless. He is dauntless, as his kiss becomes more forceful, more assertive, and those long fingers press against my skin.

"Thames Venturi," he murmurs, and my name on his tongue is nearly my undoing. His next words, beautifully familiar and painfully sincere, are whispered straight into my mouth. "You are nothing like anyone could have ever expected."

**o0o**

**7th: Lauren Silver, District Three Tribute (Submitted by **_**GreyWolf44**_**) Died due to blood loss, but the kill was ultimately attributed to Killian Doppelman. Lauren, you steadily grew on me, and I just kept pushing your placement higher and higher until you got to where you are now. You were so fun to write, and also one of the saner characters left in this Arena. Rest in peace, Lauren Silver. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**o0o**

**Alliances:**

_**Angels and Demons: **_**Thames Venturi (D1M) and Aegis Harlow (D2M)**

_**Ice has Melted Back to Life: **_**Halliday Frost (D1F)**

_**Claws and Cruelty: **_**Mikail Drakil (D4M), Asher Foster (D5M)**

_**Living on the Edge of Insane:**_ **Phoenix/Killian Doppelmen (D6M),**

**o0o**

**A/N: Start counting down chapters, ladies and gentlemen! Chapter 30, **_**Over the Edge**_ **means only eight chapters left, five of which are in the Games! Chapter 31, **_**Welcome to the Hunger Games,**_ **will detail Arena night 4, and I'm gonna start working on that in 5 minutes, actually. Start strong. **

**So, credit is due where credit is due, that fight between Lauren and Phoenix/Killian was based off of the fight between the Weeping Monk and Aurthur in Netflix's show **_**Cursed. **_**It's quite good, the Weeping Monk is one of my absolute favorite characters, and inspired a tribute right off the bat, haha. **

**Sash and Ambrose are both dead, and with the tragic death of the rockstar that is bound to shake Panem to its newly laid foundations, the lower Districts have been eliminated.**

**Thames and Aegis, and Halliday and Killian are in the forest, albeit on opposite sides of the place. Asher and Mikail are lurking at the Spiral Course, and thus the competition dwindles. **

**FANG, my favorite mutt, has (sadly) gone over a clifftop. Do you think he's shattered into a million mechanical bits at the bottom? Or do you think a hovercraft miraculously swept in and saved the war machine?**

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever **_**in your favor,**

**~SetFires (Vixen)**


	31. Welcome to the Hunger Games

"_And some will take the high road, I will go low_

_There's nothing left behind me, set fire to it all_

_The fury will fade and the images too_

_A world without you, that's what I need to do…"_

_~Jolt (Unlike Pluto)_

o0o

**Halliday Frost (18) District One Tribute**

Halfway through my journey through the forest, hunger hits.

And it hits hard. Whether I was running on the adrenaline from killing Sash or the pure, undiluted rage from the Sponsor Gift sent in earlier, it had held the gnawing that is now devouring my gut back. But now, since my frayed nerves have had time to settle and I'm far, far away from Sash's body, there's nothing stopping the feeling from setting in and taking hold of me. It's not too great to be crippling, but it greatly hinders me- causing aching side cramps and a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. All I have is water, and that doesn't do much. Especially after drinking it fast. I learned that the hard way, after chugging down half of my three remaining bottles in a desperate hope to soothe the pain nibbling me into oblivion. Humorous, but dark all the same. What if I die of starvation? Ugh. What a horrible way to go. Me. With three kills to my name, keeling over dead in some forest somewhere? This strange, glowing place. Beautiful as it is, I have no intention of dying here. I'm going to die in my bed in District One, of old age or some other peaceful way. Not of starvation, not of something as mundane or weak as this. I'm in the final _six,_ goddammit, I should be able to earn myself a few Sponsors who can at least send me a bite to eat. Right?

I spare a glance at the sky. Azer is the one in charge of public relations and such- controlling Sponsor Gifts and all, and while I'm not quite sure if it suits him, and think he's a total _bastard_ for sending in that piece of jewelry, I need all the help I can get from him at this point. _Knowing him? He's probably just going to let me starve out of spite for losing my head back there over the gift he sent in and murdering Sash._

It might not have been the best thing to do, in retrospect. But after everything that's happened- everything that any of us- everything that _I've_ been through these last three days, I think it's understandable that I had a bit of a breakdown. I'm sure others have been a lot less dramatic and bloody than mine, and that's all the Capitol wants in the end, isn't it? Bloodshed? _Typical._

I will not starve to death in a room full of food, because the money has piled up in the wrong pockets. I've heard what starvation does to people. I've seen what it does to them.

When the food first runs out, one would go hungry. Bitterly hungry. Then, after a few days, the hunger would go away, and then one would feel weak- still wanting food, but the hunger pangs would be gone. You'd think you'd be better. That you were okay.

Then, the hunger would return with a vengeance. It would be the most terrible pain, constant and grinding. That's when the human body would begin to look more skeletal, with each passing day. I've seen people try to eat the hard-baked mud and inedible leaves that would pass right through them- anything to alleviate the torture of starvation.

I've seen entire alliances drop dead because of starvation. Seen some die, and then others be to weak to bury the body or crawl away for a hovercraft to take the unfortunate soul back to their District, and flies would begin buzzing 'round the emaciated corpses.

Then, someone might have the brilliant idea of eating said corpses, and survive that way. Perhaps I should have kept Sash around after all.

My throat bobs at that thought, and as much as I don't want too, I pause and swing my pack over around my shoulder, removing my second to last water bottle and unscrewing the cap, making sure to take small sips in order to avoid another horrible stomach ache. There either needs to be a shit ton of people who are willing to buy bread, or a Feast coming up soon, or I'm not going to be in any condition to fight. Hell, give or take a few days, even one of the weaker tributes, like Herold or Elwood, could come up and gut me with my own knife. _When did I become so morbid?_

But that is what the Hunger Games will do to people, isn't it. Flip their world view upside down?

_Either way, it's a good thing I'm only like this when I'm in the final six, then._ I would rather be killed by someone trained than someone who just stumbled across another hapless competitor by chance and took the easy kill. How humiliating. _But I'd rather not die at all, no? _I'm going to put up a fight, find my best shot at survival, sight down the arrow shaft, and take it, because I'm Halliday Frost, and I was born to win these Hunger Games. Sure, probably every other person in this Arena has had the same thought, except perhaps Thames and Aegis, but they don't know who exactly they're up against. I scored a _10_ in training, and there's a damn good reason for it. The weapons on my back and the kills under my name that will be broadcasted at the end of this prove it.

A bow. Two knives, a quiver of arrows, medical supplies, water, and two forsaken pieces of jewelry for a betrayed bride. That's what I have to work with here. That's what I have to carry me to the top, for me to make my stand and rise above everyone else here. To make the name Halliday Frost one to be adored and remembered across Panem, and not just some inscription on a fancy tombstone back home that people will cry over every now and then and my father will moan over once every year.

I am more than that. I am a fighter, someone to be revered and honored. I am someone who will survive one of the greatest trials of all and be worshipped for it.

I'm going to do whatever needs to be done.

Twice.

Just to make sure.

o0o

**Killian Doppelmen (16) District Six Tribute**

After killing Lauren, I'm still riding the rush and high from the murder. It's been at least 18 hours since the kill, and I'm _swimming._ If I were in any other situation, I might allow myself a brief resting period of two or three days to revel in this feeling and plan out my next kill for something even more spectacular than the last two.

But I'm not. I'm here, in the Hunger Games, and the one thing I need is what I do not have. Time. I must work on the fly, then. Find some new, morbid design and show it to the world when I can, no matter what I myself think of its quality. Even if I think it's not up to par, I can hope that the rest of the world will still be blinded by what I present and not look any deeper than the surface. For if they do… how embarrassing. Such carelessness and indulgent practices behind my killings would normally be unacceptable.

Under _normal_ circumstances. But as that keen, whispering voice in the back of my mind reminds me, this is anything but normal. This, these Games, this situation, is anything but normal, and that is what allowed my spree to begin. My trail of bodies, the names scratched into a scorecard with the chalk Phoenix had tried to bring with him into the Arena. Perhaps normal is not so good afterall. Perhaps I want to make abnormal my new normal. Refuse to conform. Yet then I would conform to the idea of noncomforming… what a paradox.

A paradox. Yin and yang, light and dark, good against evil. If only things were so black and white these days. Now, everything is painted in shades of grey, monochrome, and without a splash of color to be seen.

_And that is why I am here, To paint beautiful pictures and paint this world red._ Admittedly, it would be easier if blood came in more colors- imagine. Would the emerald-eyed adder of District One bleed green? What about the fiery boy from District Five? Perhaps his blood would run orange, like the flames he was named after.

It's quite tempting to find out. But unless I get very lucky indeed, I'm smart enough to know that there isn't any way in any of the nine circles of hell that I'm going to be able to get that close to either of them at this point in the Games, face them, and win. I'm either going to have to assassinate them, or find someone else to do the dirty work. And there's no fun in that.

That also leaves behind Thames and Aegis- the two lovers that I haven't seen since the Bloodbath. _Kill one, and the other will fall, surely._ But I am not one to judge the nature of their relationship, and I don't want to make an assumption that could lead to my death. _Kill one and the other will only strike that much harder._ Vengeance is a powerful motivator, and if I'm going to have a vendetta against me, I'd rather it not be from one of the deadlier tributes remaining in this Arena.

_Realistically, in this game of death, I would be the next, logical target. _With no allies, and only knives to protect myself with, everyone else in this Arena is either trained, or allied with someone who has fighting experience. _Which is why I need a plan to beat them all out._ I need plan, foolproof and genius, that will fool them all, and they'll never know what hit them until they are laid at my feet, simply waiting for my design to be carved into them.

Sliding a hand inside my jacket, I run my fingers over the collection of knives stored there. Butterfly. Throwing. Hunting. And a single kunai knife, with a blade as black as midnight, darker than a new-moon sky.

I slide the knife free, and toss it up in the air, watching it spin end over end before catching it in my left hand, tossing it back to my right. Some would call this an assassin's knife. I want to scoff. An assassin does not need a certain _type_ or knife, or even _weapon_ to get the job done. It might be a signature of one of the most famous in Panem, the Assassin Prince of District Two- famed killer who has yet to be caught, framed with the deaths of not one, but three mayors of his home District.

I turn the kunai knife over in my hand again, swinging it around my finger, watching it go round and round and round. _The wheel of fate just keeps spinning._

There was a tale of a wheel, an ancient epic from the times long past. A wheel of power, and all the kings and queens of some fantastical land represented as spokes. And the wheel just kept turning, crushing some beneath it, raising others up, and continuing a vicious and bloody cycle as they fought to sit upon a throne of cold steel and iron. The wheel kept turning, until there came an ambitious queen, with fire in her blood and steel in her eyes, who swore she would not stop the wheel.

Instead, she would break it.

And just like that fictional queen, I will do the same. I will do the same, and refuse to be crushed by anyone else again. This is who I am, this is my nature, and I am sick of having it tamped down and held back. I have been kept from the world for nearly the entirety of my life, and it's my turn to explore what area I have to work with. Where I may let the next brushstroke fall.

Everyone here, from this point out, is an elite. Coins will surely be exchanging hands back in the Capitol, and bets will be flying. Who will win? Who will die next? And, surely, where will this Blood Demon wearing the skin of Phoenix Doppelmen from District Six strike next?

_Only I know._ This Arena is my canvas, these daggers in my jacket are my paint brushes, and only I know what image of resurrection and bewitchment I will paint next.

_Welcome to the Hunger Games._

o0o

**Asher Foster (17) District Five Tribute**

Mikail's getting unbearably twitchy. He's acting like a jackrabbit, always paranoid and on the lookout for danger. In anyone else, I'd appreciate it, but something about him just rubs me the wrong way and makes me want to wrap my hands around his slender throat and squeeze the life out of him. _Then again, I could do that. These are the Hunger Games, after all._ Even if I did agree to ally with him, that doesn't mean we have to kill someone together before turning on the other. _But if I'm going to kill him, I damn well make a show out of it._ There's no point in smothering the Eel in his sleep. Not when I could do so much more and show District 4 why they shouldn't mess with the people roaming the streets of 5.

On the flip side, this could start a feud between Districts. _Do I really want that?_ Even if I survive these Games, do I want to face that when I go back home? And if I die, do I want Faraq or Caleb to experience that? _No._

… _and yes._ The sense of power, the thrill that shoots up my spine at the thought is like nothing I've ever felt before. That my actions could ripple all through history makes me feel like I'm on top of the world and nothing could ever bring me down.

This greed that's eating me up from the inside out _will_ be my downfall. I know it. I've always known it, the greed for the rush of _something_, the urge to _feel_ will be the sword in my gut. The hand that twists it will be my own. And yet with each surge of pain, I will know that it is me who is helped, for in the fire of shame and guilt exists the ashes of my birth, a death to bring life, for an old me to pass and let a new me flourish. _And the Games change everyone who goes in, even if they do not come back out._ So why not make changes of my own, voluntarily? I may be many things, but if there's anything I'm not, it's passive. I'm going to make myself heard, make everyone remember the child of wolves, and there's nothing in Panem, inside the Arena or out of it, that will stop me. _These Games will not control me. These Games will not define me._

_This flame won't go out._

I stare down at my hands, at the gloves that cover them. The claws that slide out at a single twitch of my fingers- a lethal weapon at my fingertips. Literally.

There are so many ways I could use these. So many things I could do with them, so many lives that rest in my hands.

And so they will die. All of them. Anyone who stands in my path, anyone who gets in my way. I only have two years to live. I might as well make them count. Because this is where I dig in. I act, and the whole world will move. This is where I make my stand.

I curl my hand into a fist and rise from where I was crouching on the edge of the platform our camp currently rests on.

Mikail stands only a few feet away, still twitchy as ever. _It's time to end this._

I approach him carefully. Like he's one of the wolves back at the generators back in five. Indeed, Mikail backs up an initial three steps before pausing at letting me come nearer. _Once you know how to read a cornered animal, everything becomes so much easier._

Sea-green eyes restlessly flit from left to right, left to right, Always moving, never ceasing. I understand the feeling, somewhere in the back of my mind. Always on the alert. Never stopping for rest, never allowing a slip of the mind or the body, lest it be your last.

_No alertness can save him now, though._ Nothing can stand in the way of a wolf and his chosen prey, not in the end. Fate can be delayed for a time, yes, but never denied. And perhaps the Eel, cool and calm and slippery-sly, excelled at that. Sliding out of death's grip time and time again, in the gambling pits of District Four, escaping time and time again unscathed.

_There is no escaping from this. There is no coming back._

His eyes widen and lips part in surprise as I rest a hand on his shoulder. My hand carefully poised so that no movement from him or I could engage my claws. A careful ploy to lull him into a false sense of security. One of the oldest tricks in the book. _I had no plan of actually letting you survive, _I want to say. Whisper into his ear, close and soft and intimate before shredding him open and leaving him to bleed out.

The other idea I have in mind will send much more of a message, though. Much more of a message not only to the Districts but the Capitol. Tol shows them just how well I can play by their rules and can dominate this bloody, vicious game.

I lean closer, and Mikail is so focussed on my face and the words that are sure to come out of my mouth that he doesn't see my other hand reaching for his stomach.

He doesn't see it. But oh. _Oh,_ he feels it alright.

Feels it as I drive my hand straight into his abdomen, claws shredding through flesh and muscle, and seize hold of bone.

Mikail's gasp as the rib snaps is almost as horrid as the one he lets out when I stab the bone into his eye.

I refuse to flinch at the sight as I release him and let his corpse crumple in a heap at my feet, blood staining my hands and splashed over my face.

I've just made a shit ton of enemies, back in the Districts. But as Mikail crumples to the ground at my feet, I find I don't really care.

Not with this rush of power that floods through my veins.

I will conquer them like a flame, and they will all burn to ashes before me.

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District One Tribute**

The second the cannon sounds, everything in the Arena falls quiet. The soft, ambient noises that have begun to emanate from the forest that I've gotten so used to are suddenly gone, and the silence is deafening. Aegis and I lock gazes from across our little campsite, from where he's hunkered down and cooking a rabbit over a small fire we'd managed to get going. Despite Aegis not having been in the training area for most of the three days we had to prepare, he obviously had either been taught some things about survival over the course of those 62 hours or taken the time to learn them in the Academy back in Two.

A brief sense of pride washes over me as I watch Aegis easily remove the rabbit from the spit and begin carving it into portions. Food is scarce, and Sponsor Gifts haven't been coming in for either of us- we need to manage our supplies carefully. There's always the Feast, though, and the summons are bound to be heard sometime soon. We have the weapons and the skill to take the risk to get what we need- one of us stuffing a pack full while the other keeps watch. We're also in an ideal situation- Aegis is powerful and fast enough to guard me from any missiles coming in from competitors and he can kill almost anyone who dares come within swords reach of us.

What happens if a Feast _isn't_ called, though? It's a relatively new thing, having only been introduced in the 17th Hunger Games, after everybody starved to death and the person who got Sponsored with biscuits at the last minute was the Victor. Aegis and I can't depend on that to get us through this final stretch. Hunting is good and all, but it only provides us so much, and if we're going to stay in peak condition, we need to fuel our bodies. And the only way to get _real_ food in this Arena is to either find it, or, most likely in this stage of the Games, kill for it.

We'd eaten the last of our crackers after the encounter with FANG and the ravine and the mutts, and the stress and fear of the whole thing is still weighing heavily on me. But I have to shrug it off to the best of my ability. If I slow us down, or become dead weight, everything Aegis and I have worked for will come crashing down. I can't become a liability.

Tread carefully, stay alert, and be interesting. Those are the three things we're going to need to focus on if we're going to get home- either one of us. Of course, all those things fall under the umbrella objective of _staying alive._ As the five of us remaining are the five deadliest Tributes in the Arena, as I highly doubt that anyone has left hasn't succeeded in securing a kill, each move could very well be our last.

As I mull all this over, Aegis has apparently finished his task with the rabbit, and comes over to sit beside me on a fallen tree, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I gladly sink into his support, body warm and solid where its nestled against mine. It's easier for me to relax in Aegis' embrace- he's the only safe place I have here, for the time being, in this Arena filled with lethal monsters and hidden pitfalls. But try as I might, my brain just keeps whirring. Gears and wheels turning, like a spoiled child at a toy store, picking up one product, examining it, then tossing it aside, leaving their distraught parents to clean up the mess. I briefly think of Rhyne, with that simile, but thinking of home, even the neglective one I come from, sends a pang through my heart that has my head bowing and burying my face into Aegis' shoulder.

Val… Bastion… my chosen family is waiting for me. Back home. Back in a District that has scorned me and chosen me and sheltered me. _A home without Aegis,_ a voice whispers in the back of my mind, slow and leeching, poisonous. It leaves a trail of black slime behind it as it coils around my thoughts, contaminating everything it touches. _There is no one who can be your safe place if you kill him and find your way home._

And it- the voice, the dark side of my own consciousness, is right. Val's always been _there, _but she can't be the same thing Aegis is. And Bastion… there are old wounds there, that I refuse to open back up. Even if they still scar, and haven't quite healed properly. I can't risk that. _There is no one waiting for you. There is no one you can run too. _

I withdraw slightly from Aegis' embrace- closing my eyes tight, until it hurts, stomping down _hard_ on the tears welling up.

There are only five of us left. Four of us are going to have to die in order for one to go home, and I'm dead set on making it to the top two. Top two… and from there, the next rung up on the vicious and bloody ladder we've been climbing, made from flesh and bone.

I had used to think that I wanted Aegis to go home. That as long as got his happy ending, then I'd be happy, in whatever afterlife I'd be sent to. If there even is in afterlife.

But now I find myself questioning that. Questioning that, now that everything suddenly seems so _real._ I find that I'm not _ready_ to die. That there are so many things out there that I've wanted to do and never had the chance.

I want to see the beach. I've want to spend a _real_ Christmas with my friends. Now? Now I want to be there when Bastion overcomes his drinking problem. I want to be there when Val finally brings a girl out clubbing with us and proudly introduces us to her girlfriend, saying it with her head held high and no fear in her eyes.

In order to do any of that, though, accomplish any of the things I'm now determined to do, I need to stay strong.

_Chin up, shoulders back, smile._ The old mantra that I'd whisper to myself every day before going to training. Before exiting my room to greet the day. Before the chariots rolled out on the avenue, and before any of this began.

_Chin up, shoulders back, smile._

So smile I do.

o0o

**Aegis Harlow (18) District Two Tribute**

I'm thankful that Thames holds back his tears. The tells of his stress and the struggles he's going through- physically and metally- are all there: his nails, chewed down to the quick, the dark circles under his eyes from when he always insists on taking watch, and never waking me up for my shift. He claims he's not pulling his weight, but he's carrying enough baggage for the both of us. Selfishly, I'm glad he keeps it to himself, though. Straightens his spine like there's a rod of iron pressed up next to the bone and soldiers on. Climbs each mountain life throws at him, descends into each valley- he might not rush headlong into it, but he gets through.

Sometimes, I do wish I could remember myself enough to comfort him. To really offer the support that he needs. But wherever I am in my head… I'm looking out from between iron bars as the thing that controls my body, makes me skin rabbits and pack food and wrap my arms around someone who clearly needs something more than physical reassurances. _YOU ARE IN THE CAGE._ Thames had fought against that. Fought through delirium and faced me, clear-eyed and with a voice that could slice through diamonds, told me that it wasn't what he wanted. _As long as you are in the cage, Aegis, I am in the cage with you._

It was almost enough to deter me from sinking into myself. From finding that headspace I had created long ago to try and ward off the gorgon squatting within me, looking out through my eyes and managing my limbs as if I were nothing but an avatar in one of those strange looking games that we've found books about. Determining what I say, what I do and where I go.

It's almost sickening. Almost, until I think of the alternative. Think of the hell I could unleash if I let my emotions run rampant and be controlled by them. You need a good head on your shoulders, and if I can't keep it on straight, I'm going to lose it.

I have no intention of dying in these Hunger Games. Thames has moved off me a bit, now sitting on his own, his head tilted back as he stares at the sky, a faraway look in his eyes. Sitting beside him, something inside me knows I should feel strongly about him. Look at him, and have something in my heart flip over. See him smile, and feel the undeniable urge to smile back. And there's a ghost of that feeling there. A phantom of memory. Slipping through my fingers like the morning mist.

All that exists now is the sword by my side and the shield on my back. All I _know_ is the clash of steel on steel.

I can barely remember what my original goal was by putting myself in this position. This unfeeling thing of ice and stone and steel, made to fight and defend, protect and attack.

There _are_ times of clarity, though. Floating through this haze, while my body moves on autopilot. There are times when I've wondered my heart is still beating and then I remember Thames, and recall the reason why. And everything comes rushing back, a single mercurial high that fades faster and faster every time it hits.

_So this is what I have to become to protect him. _To shield this brilliant creature from harm, the archangel who has claimed my dark, dying heart and breathed new life into it, into me.

_I don't like what I'm becoming._

This isn't who I am. I'm optimistic and bold and kind. I saved him from falling off a mountain to his death and then proceed to treat him like this?

Perhaps this wasn't the best decision after all.

Because like this, I don't know what it's like to be in love. I don't remember that falling in love was like entering a house and finally realizing I'm home. I don't remember that having this person, this _gift_ in my life will make me feel like everything's possible in this world, like I can conquer anything, climb any mountain.

_As long as you are in the cage, Aegis, I am in the cage with you._

And who am I to trap such a brilliant soul?

I'm a dark star spiralling through the universe, with no direction to guide me, and I had the gall to try and capture the one thing that could guide me back into the light?

No.

It's an effort to struggle out of the hole I'd put myself in. An herculean effort, that I found the strength and willpower to match and haul myself onto solid ground once more. A metaphorical match to the situation Thames and I had been in not 12 hours earlier.

It's like a cannon shot that brings me back into reality. That brings everything, every realization coming back down on my head.

This is really happening.

We're really this close to finishing the game. To winning.

Thames and I exchange a look. The first one we've shared since the cliff and the mutts and my relapse.

It's a look that makes my heart turn over.

And then, the voice of Tiberius Hearthstone rings out through the Arena. He's inviting us to a Feast. I go still at the words. One more fight. One more step. One more day, one more game.

We've made it.

We're in the final five. We are _elite._

_We're ready._

**o0o**

**6th: Mikail Drakil, District Four Tribute (Submitted by **_**Luthien'sLight**_**) Killed by Asher Foster, via getting his rib pulled out before getting stabbed in the eye with it. A rather gruesome way to die, I must admit, but really, you allied with a gang leader in one of the lower Districts, Mikail, what did you expect? There's a reason Asher wasn't talking. Formulating the most dramatic way to kill you to get himself more Sponsors. Aside from that, your brain was fun to dive into and explore are the different paths I could take you down. Rest in peace, Mikail Drakil. May your fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]**

**o0o**

**Alliances:**

_**Angels and Demons: **_**Thames Venturi (D1M) and Aegis Harlow (D2M)**

_**Ice has Melted Back to Life: **_**Halliday Frost (D1F)**

_**Let it All Burn Down:**_ **Asher Foster (D5M)**

_**Living on the Edge of Insane:**_ **Phoenix/Killian Doppelmen (D6M),**

**o0o**

**A/N: Oh heck I'm excited for this. We're moving ever closer to the finale and I cannot wait. I CANNOT FUCKING WAIT you have noooo idea. There's nothing really to say here, except that chapter 32, **_**Feasting Like Kings**_**, will be out soon, and I'm so excited for everyone to read it!**

**Fine yes. There was a Game of Thrones reference there. Kudos to all who caught the blatant reference. Sign the petition to rewrite season 8, I'm begging you. Please. We all need it.**

**But that's not all I have to say, here, everyone! *points emphatically* This chapter was shoved back because of my horrid procrastination habits, but it's also gonna serve as a horridly late birthday gift to one of the most wonderful people in the world! Birthday present and massive shoutout going towards **_**thorne98-**_ **a spectacular author, (mini-fucking-Hemingway, I swear to god) and a brilliant, hilarious, and unbelievably kind person to be around. Bud, best birthday wishes, even though they're embarrassingly late, and I'm sorry I didn't reach out to you on your big day, bud :( I have a few more presents for you that I'm working on that will hopefully make up for my negligence. **

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever **_**in your favor,**

**~SetFires (Vix)**


	32. Feasting Like Kings

"_Lost my faith and trust_

_You and I know gold don't turn to rust_

_I still swear that we can reign_

_Like the kings and queens of better yesterdays…"_

_~Towards The Sun (Rihanna)_

o0o

**Asher Foster (17) District Five Tribute**

At first, I didn't think much of the call to the Feast. Mikail had numerous supplies, including a nice sword that I study for a few moments before ditching it on his corpse and descending down the Spiral Course so I'm only a few stories above the ground, overlooking the bare, circular area that originally held the Cornucopia.

Then it hits me. Since there is no Cornucopia, there's not going to be any place for other tributes to hide once the Feast begins. I'll be able to see everything from up here. _Oh, how I wish I had a bow! _ They would make for such easy targets, almost like sitting ducks, and from such a vantage point, I could just pick each of them off one by one. They'd never know what hit them.

But nothing's ever that easy. So of course, all I have with me are my claws, my wits, and whatever else Mikail had in his pack.

That still doesn't help with the mystery of the Cornucopia. Every other Hunger Games I've seen, the Feast has been laid out a lot like the Bloodbath, with the Cornucopia the centerpiece for everything and bodies littering the ground all around it, a throwback to the beginning of the Games and the Bloodbath. This time is different, though, because the Cornucopia has never been _destroyed _before. A sort of haze has settled over the main area, though. It's been there ever since the hovercraft came to pick up Mikail's body. I'm not sure what it is, but it's like a sort of… gauzy curtain. I can still see the destruction of the Cornucopia, that hasn't changed, but it's shimmering now, almost like a mirage. Strange.

I don't put much thought into it. It's probably just some sort of quirk the Arena has. Something to throw everyone off their game. _Hah. Everyone but me._

Even if I can't snipe anyone off from the Spiral Course, I can have a birdseye view of the happenings, and if needed, I can jump on my light cycle and join the fray. Perhaps do a bit of kill stealing, or wait for the opportune moment to strike, when they're all weakened and ready to flee. Slit Thames Venturi's throat. Tear off someone's face. That- especially the former thought- would feel good.

And… once everyone else dissipates, since I'm the one camped here, I could potentially remake my base inside the Cornucopia and just camp out. Outwait everyone else, or until I hit the finale and then finally _hunt them down. _With the potential of a nearly unlimited food supply, especially given the current situation, the idea does seem appealing. More than appealing. Ideal.

Add some kills to that plan, and everything falls right into place, and the odds will be _ever_ in my favor. _Asher Foster, Victor of the 26th annual Hunger Games. _I like the sound of that. I want to hear it chanted by the Capitol, called out by Tiberius Hearthstone, to be heard by the Districts and know that the Wolfchild of District Five is one creature that cannot be tamed. That cannot be held, that my wildness beats out even the Hunger Games.

_They were fools for thinking I could be broken so easily._ Stardust had told me, on the trains, that she wanted me to take this more seriously. Like the life or death situation that this is, and not whatever she thought I was looking at this as. _Ha._ She might also be from Five, but she doesn't know exactly what I've been through. Doesn't know about the scars down my back, or everything I've taken from the Peacekeepers for the good of the citizens. She's just a girl who knows how to shoot. How to shoot and set snares and use electricity, probably thanks to that Rachel girl from District Three that she killed in cold blood in the middle of the night, crocodile tears streaming down her pale face.

_Once I win these Hunger Games, I'm going to fix a few very vital things on District Five's floor._ Starting with the fact that these tributes should be learning how to kill. Stardust can preach about survival as long as she wants, but when it boils right down to the heart of things, if you don't have the strength to drive a weapon into your opponent's heart, it's you who's going to become a human shishkabob.

You can't win if you're a shishkabob.

Everyone in this Arena knows how to handle themselves in a fight. Every single person who's gotten this far has at least one kill to their name. If survival is your only thought and not protection, nothing about defense or even offense, you're going to get shot through the back of the head, and then you'll be dead. No hopes of making it to the top, bye-bye hopes of going home to see mom and dad again.

_There is a very strict set of rules you have to play by if you're going to be in the Hunger Games. _There is no compromise. There is no in-between. You do, or you die, you stand, or you fall. Simple.

So yes. I _will _win these Games, and I will prove them all wrong, every single one of them. I will turn District Five into a Career District, and a place that will produce more Victors than any other.

_No one will die without a fighting chance. Not in the Arena, not from District Five. _

_Never again._

Turning my attention back to the horizon, I set my jaw. Ready. Waiting.

And then I freeze. Freeze, and stare in awe as the shimmering haze before me is swept away, a curtain being drawn back by the hand of a god, to see the horn reforged. Glittering black and electric blue, and laden with food. With weapons. The Cornucopia born anew, beckoning, the horn of plenty spilling over with goods for all.

There are only a few moments to be awestruck. Because that's when the first two figures flit out across the open expanse of the field, running from the forest, gold and red in the light of the Arena.

The Feast has begun.

o0o

**Halliday Frost (18) District One Tribute**

I've never been so glad to hear the voice of a Capitolite in my entire life. As grating as their accents might be on the ears, Tiberius Heathstone has become my newfound savior the moment he called out to the tributes and invited us to a Feast. _Thank god. _While I am far from starvation, my stomach is still howling, and I nearly turn into a small puddle of relief. _Thank god._ While I'm still weak, I'm not yet out of the equation. I'm still very much a variable.

I'm a variable, determined to kick someone's ass.

_If there's a Feast, that means that no one's going to be out hunting. There are so few of us left anyway, and who knows how big this place is. _I slump back against a tree, and wrap an arm around my midsection, vainly attempting to quell the pangs of hunger there. _Just hang on, Halliday, _I tell myself. _Toughen up. You'll get food soon enough. Just get to the center of the Arena. Get to that area, and then you'll be fine._

Even if I do get there before the rest of the competition, though, I'm not going to have the time to stick around, and I don't want to waste any of this precious energy I've stored up on sprinting either there or back.

If I'm going to survive, I'm going to need to move fast. Speed is everything, now, speed, skill, and wits. We're players in a game and I don't intend to lose. The best bet I have is getting there on my light cycle, but these things do seem to run on gasoline, and I'm running low. I don't think I'm going to have enough for a trip there and back, not as fast as I want to be.

Pursing my lips, I move to tie my hair back with one of the hairbands that I'd found in Sash's pack. I don't know _why_ they were there, but I'm thankful that I've found them. My hair will only get in my face if I fight, and I can't afford to have any distractions. Especially not if I come up against Thames and Aegis, which I very well could. _I need to be prepared._ For anything and everything this Arena and the Gamemakers could throw at me. The trees provide enough shelter, I suppose, or I could camp out in the city, considering where everyone else is. The Feast will supply me with food, and I already have weapons. _These are my Hunger Games._

I had told my father I wanted him to notice me. I had been neglected in the one place that should have offered me the most comfort and support, and if this is what I have to do to finally get someone to know that _Halliday Frost _is a survivor, a _warrior_, then so be it. I refuse to be that girl who died in the 26th annual Hunger Games. I'm going to be the girl who _won_ the 26th annual Hunger Games.

_And nothing's going to get in my way. _Especially not a little hunger. _Toughen up, buttercup. You knew this would be hard. Don't be a wimp. Start moving, and start thinking._

Taking a single deep breath, I push off the tree and angle myself North. Towards the remains of the Cornucopia, and my next best shot at survival. _I am my only hope now._Maximus used to tell me, during training, the best way to get something done is to do it myself. _And now I have no other choice._ I have no one to rely on. Not really. Azer might be helping me as best I can, but he's also helping Thames, and while my District partner is still alive, I can't solely rely on Azer as a source of income. I can only rely on myself, and I've done so for the majority of the past eighteen years. I can do it a few more days. A few more hours, if I get lucky. _And then I'll be alive, and they'll be dead, and then I'll be victorious._

Thames had once told me I looked like a queen. After the chariot rides, after he'd offered the rose. Before he'd gone off and decided to abandon me for the boy from Two with monsters in his eyes and shadows in his smile. _I will be a queen._ I will be _the_ queen.

I have a single chance, a single shot at the crown and I intend to be the sharpshooter. This is a world without heroes, without villains. There's only me and my competition. And in the end, it's only going to be me, with a blood-stained crown resting atop my head. A queen, beautiful and terrible and someone to be worshipped.

Panem will bow, Panem will _know,_ and I will never be forgotten, never be controlled, never be heartbroken again.

If they are the kings of spades and clubs, then I will be the queen of hearts, and show them just how sharp a diamond's edge can cut.

I don't know how far I've walked. All I know is the steady, hunter's tread that I maintain for the next who knows how long, retracting my steps, bounding over roots and

The hunger is gone, and it is replaced by a fire that's burning deep in my bones, ice melting back to life, igniting into an unquenchable flame. The urge to _fight._ To _win_ and prove myself worthy of whatever praise might come my way. I'm unstoppable now, and there is no one and nothing that can stand in my way as I take to the skies, soaring above the rest and clinching the Victor's crown right out of their clutching hands. I've pushed through hell, I've gotten to this stage, and gods be damned if I give up now.

The treeline is in sight. The undergrowth is still too thick for me to make out much of anything as I approach the entrance to the main clearing, but my senses are dialed up to eleven.

I have formulated my plan- a one riddled with risks and depending all on me and the limits of my strength, my determination, but it's one I have full faith in. It is what will get me _noticed, _one that will get me out oh harm's way with my own unique flare. My hand goes to my waist, and I unclip the baton from my belt.

In order for me to make this work, I need every ounce of flexibility and speed that I can muster. And a shit ton of luck.

I don't give myself any more time to try to talk myself out of this, backing up two, three, four steps. Take a running start.

And throw myself into the open, the cycle roaring to life underneath me, trail sputtering into existence, and beeline for my chance at salvation.

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District One Tribute**

The dash out into the open is one of the biggest risks Aegis and I have taken these entire Hunger Games. We've tried to play relatively safe, to stay low and build up supplies, but the need for food is too great and has driven us out of our hiding place. Aegis is shielding us, his arm raised, protecting us from any possible projectiles coming for vulnerable areas. Nothing happens.

I'm nearly to the first circle of supplies when I stop in my tracks, sudden enough and without warning so that Aegis continues ahead of me for a few steps before realizing that I'm not with him. He turns back, confusion evident in those beautiful eyes, even as he keeps an ear out for danger.

"Thames?"

"The Cornucopia," I whisper back, awestruck, and Aegis twists around, his own eyes going wide.

"Holy shit."

Holy shit is right. I didn't think too hard about what the Feast was going to look like, just that is was an opportunity to restock on the things we need and perhaps get a kill in the potential chaos. But now, it seems that the Gamemakers had other ideas. Other ways to show us just how powerful and fast they could work.

Because the Cornucopia is indeed rebuilt, and overflowing with supplies. Weapons of all sorts, food, tents… almost like the Bloodbath, but the loot is far better here.

Aegis and I exchange a wordless glance. I move to unsling the pack from my shoulders, but Aegis shakes his head. I raise an eyebrow at him in confusion. We're usually on the same page- what's going on?

My lover only jerks his chin towards the far side of the clearing, where our first competitor has shown himself. Phoenix Doppelman, strolling out into the open as if he has all the time in the world. His mouth quirks up at the corner when he sees us, and something in his hand glitters against the lights of his suit. A garrote wire, I realize, with no small amount of surprise- and dread. Sharp, deadly, and if he gets that thing wrapped around someone's limb, it's immediate amputation. And I've seen him run- he's fast enough and small enough that he could easily get around someone who doesn't have their guard up. Shit, we need to be careful. _Either that or kill him, but I don't want to do that until we have exactly what we need. Aegis had even forced me to make one, a precise list of everything we should grab, should there be things other than food available at the Feast. _I want to maybe injure someone and escape in everything that could potentially go bad if the Wolfchild shows up. But I'd much rather not stick around to find out.

Aegis, on the other hand, seems to have other plans. _What the fuck? Age?_ I frown. We'd talked over what the plan was once we reached the Feast. Extensively. And it was Aegis that had suggested we try not to get ourselves into any more trouble than we absolutely had to. _So why is it _him _driving straight into the killing?_

And that's when our second guest joins the fiesta. With a roar of engines and a screech of tires, Halliday Frost skids in, hair flying out behind her, a trail of green screening all of us off from the horn as she steers her light cycle into a hard, almost reckless, and most certainly dangerous, turn Her momentum sends her launching off her bike, which somehow _doesn't _immediately shrink back into a baton. Instead, it careens clean around the horn, just underneath the tail of the Cornucopia, and Halliday springs backward, her body a long, graceful arch as she flings herself back, hands reaching down, grabbing a pack off from where it's hanging on the horn, and lands upright on the horn. She turns back, her visor on the helmet sliding back so that she can smirk at us. Blow the three of us a little kiss, before diving back on her bike, hands settling easily around the handlebars as she leans forward and speeds back out, gone almost as quickly as she game, leaving a trail of green behind her, cutting across the Arena in a clear taunt. _Catch me if you like_. _I dare you._

Aegis is reaching for his own baton to summon his own cycle, but I stop him with a hand on his arm. He turns to look at me, and those midnight eyes are frozen over with fury. It takes all my effort not to flinch back from his gaze.

"Not yet," I say quietly. "There are other fish in the sea, Aegis. We're not strong enough to take her. Not as hungry as we are. And she _was_ able to hold her own against the both of us. If you're so desperate for a fight, pick it with someone else."

And pick it Aegis does. I have no choice but to follow him, though, as he charges for Phoenix. My heart sinks as I hear a distant battle cry from somewhere behind us, in the direction of the Spiral Course. Distinctly feral, and undeniably masculine. _Shit._ That's Asher. Asher, with a chip on his shoulder and a grudge against me.

And Aegis just went right into another fight. _No- no, this wasn't how it was supposed to go…_ I grab up a spear from a nearby stash and rush to join my ally. He and Phoenix are whirling and clashing across the Arena floor, and Phoenix has large, bulky gloves on that protect his hands from the garrote as he tries to dodge and duck and block Aegis' blows as best he can.

"There isn't anything here for you, Phoenix!" I yell as I come up beside Aegis, flanking him and driving the boy from Six back, back, back.

The boy bares his teeth at us, in what would normally be called a smile. On him, it looks like a snarl. "My name's _Killian,"_ he spits back, eyes wild.

_What? Killian? Where did that come from? _I would give the name more thought if I had the time, really I would. But Aegis is letting out a growl of his own and lunging forward again, and I have to go with him. Protect him just as he protects me. Even if I am determined to win these Games, I'm not going to let Aegis get chopped in half by a piece of wire. Even if that wire _is_ very sharp.

Aegis roars again, and springs forward, unleashing a hail of blows that Killian _somehow _manages to get around. The boy from Six skitters back, his eyes glittering as he lets out a short, breathless laugh. Aegis' nostrils flare, and that laugh, I know, is Killian's last mistake.

The only thing Aegis says is, "You're already dead meat."

And then he _moves._

o0o

**Killian Doppelmen (16) District Six Tribute**

There is nothing more wondrous than the way I dance around the singing steel that Aegis Harlow swings at me. Nothing more exhilarating than the knowledge of a secured kill, as he lets out a predatory howl and comes straight for me.

All it is is a brief glimpse of color, of fire against the dark color of a suit, but it's enough. It's what keeps me on my toes, lashing out with my wire when I get the chance as I avoid blow after blow, taking some on the iron garrote as I stall.

Stall, stall, stall, playing for time and wearing my competition down, a game of cat and mouse, except the mouse has a wolf on its side.

I see the maneuver the second Aegis makes turns his blade against my wire, forcing it down, before angling his sword up, up, up, straight towards my vulnerable heart.

Dropping the wire, I spread my arms out. Welcoming the strike, taunting him, even as a flash of orange sparks in the corner of my eye. I close my eyes, and wait.

Wait for the guillotine, and laugh as it never falls. As the death blow never lands, and instead, my attacker is ripped wide open by the claws of a wolf.

Aegis stumbles back, and Asher lands in a crouch beside me. Our eyes meet, and a alliance, albeit a temporary one, is formed. Together, we advance. Closing in on our target. A wolf and his companion, locking in a kill.

But off to our left, the warcry of heaven sounds, and then there's nothing but light behind my eyes as something heavy slams into the side of my head, sending me sprawling. I try to blink the spots from my vision, order my body to _move move move,_ but nothing responds. Not for three, precious seconds, and in that time span, a warrior of heaven strides up to me and plants his boot on my chest, holding me down, golden eyes blazing.

"It's not me you want to kill," I croak up at him, but even as the words leave my lips, I know there's no use. He'll find Asher soon enough and kill him. There's no hope left for me.

There never really was. I've been living on luck and the will of some sadistic god, and now that both have run out, it is time to meet my own demise.

Time for my own opera. My own finale. _This really is my curtain call._

A laugh bubbles up in my mouth, among the blood staining my lips, rising up my throat as Thames rips his spear away, golden eyes frozen over, glazed with a sort of killing calm. There is nothing behind those eyes. Nothing but a monster, as he stands back to watch me bleed out. To watch me die.

Joke's on him, though.

The show never ends, because art cannot be killed.

o0o

**Aegis Harlow (18) District Two Tribute**

One minute I'm in motion, moving, fighting, the song of battle roaring through my blood, honed in on my target and ready to secure a kill. The next, there's a searing pain in my stomach. One that makes me stumble back, stagger to my knees, my hand flying to my abdomen and it's a shock to my system that renders me immobile as it comes away red.

The violent, sanguine color stains my shaking hands, and this time, I do tremble. Because it is not the blood of _someone_ I was trained to kill. It's the blood of the _person_ who was trained to kill. A sickness crawls within me, and I shut my eyes desperately, trying to block everything out.

But the pain doesn't stop. Won't stop. It only gets worse, pounding around my torso, up my spine, into my head and blinding me, banging on the doors of my mind, breaking down the barricades until the demons are inside, rending at logical thought.

The pain throbs in my guts, and it's deep and warm, but not in a nice way. It feels like someone has their hand in there and is _squeezing_ my organs as hard as they can. I can't _move,_ I can't _think,_ and every breath feels like a nail bomb exploding in my innards. A deep wound is sliced in the flesh of my stomach. It's heavily oozing out blood, and there's probably a blueish-purple bruise forming around it. Colorful spots contour the sides of my eyes on my next breath, and the agony spirals all across my body. Asher's claws had moved too fast to be seen, but the blood poured out of me as if in slow motion. It came as a red fountain to spread over the Arena floor, every trickle showing the struggling beat of my heart, surely. My pulse is already weakening, and I don't know how much longer I'm going to last.

"_AEGIS!" _ Someone screams out my name, while my own are dying in my throat, and then there's a flurry of gold and black and red above me, and through this haze, through the feeling of my lifeblood pouring out from between my fingers, I can see the fury of an avenging angel unleashing his wrath upon those who have wronged him.

Two against one, but the one is an angel, one with all the purity and righteous fire of heaven on his side, and he strikes one of his opponents down swiftly, without mercy, and rounds on the other. There are wings coming from this angel's back, I think. Distantly. White wings, massive and slightly translucent, glimmering in the rays of his brilliance. They spread wide as he advances on the second figure, only a dark splotch compared to his light, and it isn't long before the person turns and flees.

The angel turns then, and his radiance fades as he runs over to my side. Falls to his knees.

There are tears sparkling in Thames' golden eyes as he stares down at me, and the cut on his cheek only makes him that much more real. His fingers are soft as they brush against my face, soft as angel feathers.

"You-" I croak out, but he shushes me with a finger over my lips.

"Don't talk," he whispers back. "Don't talk, Age. You'll only make it worse." He places a hand over mine for a single, brief moment, pressing it to the wound in my stomach, making me gasp out with pain. "I know it hurts, but I need you to keep holding your hand there, alright? It will staunch the bleeding-"

I'm already shaking my head, _I can't, I can't, I can't_, but Thames laces his fingers through mine again, skin warm against mine. Either he's warm, or I'm cold. I'm not sure which…

"Hold my hand, then," Thames whispers. "Hold my hand, Age." It's an effort to move my fingers to interlock with his. I manage it, but just barely. "We're going to get through this," Thames vows from above me.

My lips part on a silent answer, a soundless protest, but Thames stops whatever might have or would have come from my mouth with a kiss.

And the world falls away. The kiss is slow and soft, comforting in the way that words never could be. Thames' hand rests below my ear, his thumb caressing my jaw as our breaths mingle, mine weak and raspy, his strong and warm against my cheek. He seeks out my lower lip with heart wrenching gentleness, and I exhale again into his mouth, knowing all too well that each one could be my last.

Thames breaks away far too soon, and the scream that was building in my chest from the agony turns into a broken gasp as I try to sit up, try to get his warmth back because I'm going cold.

I'm going so, so cold.

I try to find the breath to tell Thames this fact- it's important, he needs to know, but Thames seems more preoccupied with trying to find something in the treasure hoard around us. Scrambling about desperately, muttering words too soft for me to make out.

After what seems like an eternity, during which I can only struggle to find my breath and think through the pain, stifling the screams that are bubbling up inside and instead turning them into tiny little coughs that only worsen the blood staining my torn suit, Thames finds what he needs.

"Hold on," he whispers, and then is scooping me into his arms as if I'm weigh nothing more than a young child, a hand beneath my knees and the other supporting my back and head as he carries me off that battlefield. "Come on, Aegis. Let's go home."

**o0o**

**5th: Killian / Phoenix Doppelman (16) District Six Tribute. Submitted by **_**sherazade96**_**. Killed by a spear through the throat, courtesy of Thames Venturi. Ah. Killian. **_**Damn**_**, you were fun. I loved writing you, and the words on your sections just seemed to flow sometimes. You made me happy, and I enjoyed you and your serial killer-creeeeeepy tendencies. Rest in peace, Killian, Arianna, and Phoenix. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 2/1/0]**

**o0o**

**Alliances:**

_**Angels and Demons: **_**Thames Venturi (D1M) and Aegis Harlow (D2M)**

_**Ice has Melted Back to Life: **_**Halliday Frost (D1F)**

_**Bared Claws and Dripping Fangs:**_ **Asher Foster (D5M)**

**o0o**

**A/N: YOU THOUGHT. HA. PARA, YOU THOUGHT. Heh. No, your frost queen gets to live just a bit longer. "smirks* She'd better be on her guard though. But. Aegis. Yeah. Um. *buries face* Yeah, that's what I was crying about earlier. :(**

**For everyone else, no, you're not seeing things. I think I just got tired of my own bullshit on how slow I was putting content out and just how much I've been dragging myself through the dirt. So. Here's this next chapter, **_**Feasting Like Kings.**_ **I think I owe **_**sherazade96**_ **an apology here, though. I really would have liked to develop Pheonix and Arianna as a character further, but I wanted him to place high, and with everything, he really wasn't in a good place to be able to do that. So I basically took your submission and trashed it, and I feel guilty about that. It's not what Phoenix deserved, and it's not what you deserve either. If you want to work something out with me so I either rewrite him in some other way- there is one, but we'll have to discuss that in private, I am more than happy to open my PM inbox. **

**Other than that, and the fact that I'm a bit tired from writing 10 povs in such a short period of time, I'm so glad that we're here. This story has been a drag for me, and I'm ready to bring it to a clashing finale. Remaining, we have Asher Foster, Thames Venturi, Aegis Harlow, and Halliday Frost. Who do you think will come out on top? Who do you think will die next? (Wait no don't answer that, please, don't.)**

**For reference, Aegis, Thames, and Halliday are all in the forest, and Halliday's leaving the lovers alone for now while she regains her strength and does some training stuff to make sure she's fully ready. Asher's sitting on the Cornucopia, smug as anything else. **

**The next chapter, chapter 33: Slip Away (My Heart Can't Take It) will depict Arena night 5, and will be out… well, I dunno, given that my original date for this was the end of the month. I want to try and get chapters out at a reasonable speed, but also be able to take time for myself and play some other games, not just write all the time, although I love doing this too! **

**And this is pretty much the last thing I want to say, because some of you already have begun to send in tributes, and I appreciate the hell out of you, submissions for **_**A Court of Mist and Ruin **_**are now unofficially open, and the first prologue will be published on Halloween, either with or a day after the last prologue of **_**Locked and Loaded. **_**It's not first-come-first-serve like this one was, unfortunately, so I can't reserve slots for **_**everyone**_**, as much as I wish I could. **

**Best of luck to everyone, and congratulations to **_**Paradigm of Writing, Luthien'sLight, **_**and **_**thorne98**_ **for making it this far! Thank you to all the rest of you for supporting this story, I love you all to pieces! **

**Over, out, and, as always, may the odds be **_**ever **_**in your favor,**

**~SetFires (Vix)**


	33. Slip Away (My Heart Can't Take It)

"_Dark waters caving in, you were the light I knew_

_I don't know how to pretend, 'cause I'm not bulletproof_

_Please don't slip away, 'cause my heart can't take it_

_Don't let this be the end, don't let this be the end…"_

_~Slip Away (Ruelle)_

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District One Tribute**

Aegis is light in my arms as I carry him through the forest, retracing our steps to the camp by the ravine, gently setting him down on the ground. Now more than ever is when I wish we had gotten a sleeping roll, so he would at least have something soft to lay on, but there isn't anything that could serve as comfort. And I highly doubt that Aegis- strong, unyielding Aegis- would want to be pampered with luxury during his final moments of life. Instead, I unsling the shield from his back and lay him on that, trying to keep his head elevated. I don't know if it will help- I don't know shit about medical- but I can only pray. That maybe this small thing, this final act of desperation, will be enough to save the person I love.

On the way here, I had tried to come to terms with the fact that there will be no saving him. The wound in his stomach is too deep, and he's lost too much blood for me to do anything about it. And Azer won't interfere with this. He understands loss, he understands what it does to you, and he's not about to step in the way and waylay death, just because I fell in love like some idiot in the week I had with Aegis in the Capitol.

"Age," I whisper, praying to anything, anything that would listen that he hasn't gone yet. Aegis lets out a pained groan and struggles to sit up, gasping in pain. I stop him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, and some part of my heart fractures as he slumps back down, chest heaving for air that does him no good, and only causes agony. His dark, dark eyes are dull and glazed, the last stars in the galaxy of his obsidian gaze dying out. _"Age!"_

Aegis stirs with a quiet groan, and he slowly lolls his head in my direction. My heart spasms at the movement, the movement that has taken so much energy out of him as he bleeds out. "T- Thames…" he utters, his voice raspy, voice breaking halfway through my syllables.

"I'm here, Aegis," I whisper, desperate, some wretched feeling building inside my chest that makes me want to curl up into a ball, to try to escape the weight on my chest. The weight that seems to be perched there, hanging on like some dark, cruel monster, talons digging into my flesh, leaving no physical scars, but rending me all the same.

It's as if my heart, my living beating heart, is lying here, in my arms, in my hands, and I have it in a death grip. Every frantic thud in my chest is mirrored by the shallow, harsh breaths Aegis takes. In and out. In and out. _I never wanted it to come to this._ I always knew that, eventually, one of us would have to die for the other to have the chance to live. But I always thought that person was going to be me. That it would be me, bleeding out in Aegis' arms. That it would be me, trying to come to terms with the fact that it was me who was dying, and not the love of my life. _My heart can't take this fracture._

This tear that's about to be ripped through the fabric of my existence is one that's never going to be mended. Never going to be pieced back to together. If this is the end, there is no hope for me, no hope of ever being whole again. Of ever truly _feeling_ again. It's like I'm in a hole, six feet deep, and there are dark waters flooding the earth above me. It's only a matter of time until they close over my head and trap me down here, with nowhere to go, choking and drowning in an unforgiving graveyard.

I'm not ever going to be 'fine' after this. I won't even be able to lie and say that I am, because if this light goes out, I will be plunged into eternal darkness. My heart is made of bulletproof glass, but it seems to have taken one too many rounds. _I can't do this without you, Age…_ I unconsciously reach for his hand, and something in my chest gives a painful squeeze as his fingers interlace with mine for what will surely be the last time. _He was my shot at love. _At first, I had wondered if Azer would take me under his wing after these Games if I were to be the one to make it out of here alive.

But Azer's lost too much. He's been through this exact same thing, except his lover died at the beginning of everything. He lost him before their journey through the Arena could even begin. Now I'm losing Aegis when we're only a few steps away from the finishing line, and this is one place where I cannot carry him to the end with me. I'm not sure which one hurts more.

"Aegis…" I breathe, again, fighting to keep my voice steady, to try and remain strong, because that's what Aegis would have done. Aegis would have refused to shed tears, he would grieve in his own, quiet way, before turning his eyes towards the sunrise and moving on with these Hunger Games. Take the necessary steps to get to survival. He wouldn't be so torn up about this, surely. _He's always been the strong one._

I feel something gripping my fingers, in a vise-like grip, and I look down in a sort of detached surprise. I meet Aegis' eyes, and I don't know if it's my imagination, but it seems like some of the stars are back in that midnight gaze. Aegis' voice is nearly gone as he speaks, and is a wet, harsh noise in his throat, but he tries anyway.

"Thames," he whispers, and something vital inside me gives a spasm of distress. "Thames, I can't feel my fingers. I'm so cold… I'm so cold, Thames, and I can feel my body turning to stone…"

"I can't-" my voice breaks, and I have to pause, swallowing resolutely a few times before continuing. "I can't help with that, Age…"

"Hold me, then?" His request is so quiet, so small, that I can barely hear it, but when it reaches my ears, something inside me withers away and becomes ashes on a frigid wind.

But I bring him into my arms, curling my body around him as if to protect him from death, lurking right around the corner, and give in, letting the tears run down my face.

o0o

**Aegis Harlow (18) District Two Tribute**

I can feel my body turning to stone. Cold and unmoving, unresponsive to anything I might command it to do. It feels awful, that lack of control. Like the ground's been pulled out from beneath your feet, and now you're falling, falling, and you know that once you hit the bottom, it's the end.

All I know is that I'm tumbling through the air, through the dark, and there isn't anything that'll be there to cushion my landing. _Fly. Fly, fly, fly, fly, fly,_ and I'm the one who crash-lands.

"Please don't go." Thames exhales the words onto my skin, and his tears splash onto my face as he holds me close. "It's too soon, Age, please…"

_I want to stay._ I want to stay more than anything in the world, because even with everything that has been going on, I don't want to let him go just yet. I want to be the one who chooses how we end… not some cruel twist of fate like the one we are caught up in now.

"Just a little bit longer," Thames continues, and I can feel my heart shudder and start to crack, because _this is really the end, isn't it?_ There is no more of my story after this. There are no more nights lying on our backs and staring at the stars, there are no more brilliant smiles and quiet laughs and looks shared for just the two of us.

And I'll never be able to have that with Leo, either. Instead, on this day, every year, people will come to cry over my grave. Leo. My brother. Maybe my mother and father, if they care enough. And… and somewhere, deep inside, I know Thames would visit me too, if he makes it out of here alive. Even if he's moved on by then, he'd still come. The tear tracks down his face further reinforce the fact.

_So this is the bitter end._

I never thought it would be like this. I always thought it would be me pulling Thames close as he shuddered through his last breaths. Not the other way around. I'd thought that I had it all planned out-

But even the best-laid plans go awry, isn't that the saying? That no matter how skilled you think you are, how foolproof you think your plan is, there's always something in the world that can fuck you and it up, and by law, what can go wrong, will go wrong.

And everything has gone wrong, Everything, because I'm here, and I'm bleeding out, and thoughts are eddying around my head in a hopeless spiral, and it's all going all too fast.

Everything is happening far too fast.

There _is a_ single constant, though. A golden light that shields me and protects me for just a few moments longer, the glow pulsing and growing weaker with every passing second as it fights for just a little more time, _just five more minutes. _Just five more minutes.

Eventually, though, those minutes are going to run out, and even Thames Venturi won't be able to hold death at bay. Nothing can. _Death is like the wind. It blows where it wants to blow._ There's nothing we can do to stop it. We're helpless against the path it decides to take, who it decides to claim for its own and who it will merely brush over, or give a mere taste of what it could be. We're helpless, and it's one of the worst feelings in the world to know that there's nothing you can do from preventing something so permanent from happening.

There's so much I want to say, and we have so little time. The clock is ticking, and everything is running out, and I can't find my voice to tell him that he's going to be okay, that's he's strong and that he'll make it through this. That I want him to tell everyone I have ever loved how I feel, so that words left between us would not go unsaid forever. But I can't find either the voice or the strength to do it.

My mouth is dry, and all I can taste is metal, and it makes me feel sick. I want this feeling to_ stop,_ because, underneath the twisted thorns of my thoughts, there's pain. Such terrible, unending pain, and it's not going away, no matter how hard I try to ignore it. _Someone make this stop, Please, just make it stop and go away because I can't take it anymore. I can't take it, I can't take it, I can't take it…_

I try to find strength from that well inside me- the deep place that I had practiced drawing from so many times before and relied on in the heat of a simulated battle, in the middle of a sparring session against Reyna, or Leo, or anyone back in the Training Academy of District Two. But that place has abandoned me, and there is no place that I can turn to except the embrace I'm being held in. A different kind of strength lies in that grip- wiry muscle and sinew, the quiet kind that everyone underestimates, until it makes itself known in times like this.

_Times like this, where everything is falling out from underneath you and the air you breathe has been ripped from your lungs by some cruel god who has no intention of ever giving it back._

A warm hand soothes over my head, fingers carding through my hair, and I try to exhale. The breath comes out as a wet gasp instead.

"I really thought I could save you," Thames whispers, cradling me against his chest, propping me up.

I wet my lips, trying to think past the pain in my stomach. "Yeah," I rasp into the air, my voice small and fragile. "Yeah. So did I."

Thames lets out a broken sob from above me and tilts my head back, fingers inexplicably gentle beneath my jaw. The world greys in and out at the movement, and when everything slides back into place again, Thames is kissing me. His lips are warm and soft, chapped against my own.

My mind is a mess of _hurt _and _pain _and the gentle slide of his tongue on mine.

_Thames, _my heart whispers, but some other part of me, inside my chest and beating just as strong as the organ that says my lover's name, breathes, _Leo._

I slide into blackness.

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District One Tribute**

Aegis stops breathing. His heartbeat, weak as it already is, stutters against my hand, pressed against his chest. It flutters once, twice, each beat weaker than the last. I hold my breath, waiting, waiting for that third beat, the one that will surely break my heart.

It never comes, and the blow that lands is so much worse than the shattered edges of the thing in my chest. The vicious creature of my own thoughts digs talons sharper than the blade of a sword into my chest, straight into the thing that used to be my heart, now destroyed beyond any hope of repair.

It's hard to breathe through the pain that hits me. It's hard to do much of anything, except kneel here, on the Arena ground, with my lover's body in my arms, his head resting in my lap, eyes forever shut. I can't find the air in my lungs, can't find oxygen, because every particle of it is being held back by the animal that has its claws sunk inside my chest, denying me everything. And the everything I have inside me is shattering, cracking into a million, unrepairable pieces, broken glass and bleeding gemstones all across the ground, and no one can see them except me, because I'm living in a world of my own where I am the only person.

I've become so accustomed to another person to spend the days with, so accustomed to the luxury of being able to turn and call out a name, and have someone answer with a fond smile and warm words. It's a luxury I'll never get to have again. Not in the way I had it with Aegis.

I think, once that I somehow knew how to fly, but now my feathers have been clipped and I am forever grounded, staring at the stars and longing for one more brush of moonlight across my fingertips, the taste of starshine on my tongue. I knew, once, how to touch the sky. I just can't remember how.

Maybe I used to be a flame against the dark, but with each passing second, it's getting harder for me to find the will to keep that spark alive. To keep beating the darkness back, and it's so tempting to just give in.

And that temptation is always going to be there, no matter what. No matter what happens, no matter where I go or who I'm with, there's nothing that can get rid of the thing that squats in one corner of my mind, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce. Every day, I'm going to wake up and wonder what would have happened. Every day, I'm going to wake up and think about joining him. It's a test of wills, and this time, I don't know who's going to win.

Something inside me whispers that it's not going to be me who comes out on top. Not this time.

_And these are the Hunger Games. _There is no guarantee that I'm going to live through even the next 24 hours.

And it's horrifying that I take some solace in the thought.

There have been so many good times to remember, to look back upon and think about how much I have to live for, how much I have to fight for, but sometimes, they're blotted out by the shadows. They creep through my mind, slithering in through the edges of my shattered sanity and self-confidence, demons with shredding claws and ripping fangs, who live for the sole purpose of tearing me down, past the point of no return.

It's nullifying, really. It's a dark tide of deadly despair and lethal loneliness that threatens to sweep you into the depths of oblivion. This… _feeling._ Or, rather the lack of, because everything has gone silent, as if a blanket of stillness has been thrown over the Arena, and there is no more sound, because the world has ending, and this is the calm before the storm. The breath before the explosion, before everything goes up in smoke and fire, and the horsemen of old myth and legend come sweeping in to decimate the land. That's almost how this feels…

Except it's already gotten a million times worse.

I can't stand the fact that I'm still near Aegis' lifeless body- hunched in a ball off to the side, his corpse lying _right there, right there, right there… _it's inconsiderate of me not to give him my proper respects before I go. It makes me a horrible person, it makes me a traitor and a dishonorable human being, but it's too late for that. It's too late to consider moral or social status, or how you'll be seen when you emerge from this Arena like a terrifying chrysalis of silence, bathed in crimson.

Scrambling to my feet, I stumble my way over to his body, my legs weak as those of a newborn foal, and desperately try to search him for anything of value- his sword, the shield, his pack… and then my fingers close around something cold.

Something chill, even against the still-fading warmth of his feverishly-hot skin. I curl my fist around it and tug, sharply, and let out a sudden hiss of pain as a sharp edge digs into my palm. _What…?_

Slowly, I unfurl my fingers, and stare down at the pendant that lies in my hand. A silver snake, the emerald of its eye winking at me in the dimming Arena light. _His token._

… would it be wrong of me to take it? To remove the one thing that might be precious to him and keep it as my own?

_It could be a token, _a dark part of me whispers. _A memento of the person you lost._ And… and I could always return it to its rightful owner once I make it out of the Arena- whether it be in a coffin or not.

_Something to remember him by._ Something to hold close, until we meet again.

And given my current circumstances, that could be very, very soon.

I almost find myself looking forward to it.

o0o

**Halliday Frost (18) District One Tribute**

The cannon goes off, and I freeze, halfway through chewing a cracker. _Someone's dead._ The first cannon sounded soon after I'd left the Feast, and it hadn't been long until Phoenix's body had been lifted out of the Arena via hovercraft. _So that means Asher, Thames, or Aegis is dead. _I'm willing to bet it's Asher, because of th advantage Thames and Aegis have over him, and the fact that while he still might have been deadly in his own right, he couldn't hold is own against the both of them, especially with all the trouble he caused for us in the past.

_So I'm safe assuming it's Asher, then. _Which leaves Thames, me, and Aegis left to play this wicked game. _If I'm going to win, it's not going to be easy. _But nothing in life that you really want ever is easy, is it?

_Time to really get into the Game, Halliday. _Anything and everything that occured in the prior weeks was child play. This, right here, right now, is where I have to shine. Where I have to become a roaring creature of ice and wind, a dragon with brilliant green eyes and claws sharp as the daggers I hold.

_And like a dragon, I will incinerate anything and everything that dares stand in my way._

But of course, what is a finale without a show to remember? It's true, I put on one hell of a performance during the Feast- a grand entrance and exist, leaving them all to choke on my dust- but I'm going to need to follow that up with something even greater. Something that will make the crowd roar in satisfaction and delight. Something that will make me _worth remembering._ I don't want them to _just_ call me Halliday Frost, the winner of the 26th annual Hunger Games. I want to be something more. I want to be the Victrix. I don't _just_ want to be a Victor, I want to _be_ Victory incarnate.

I know who I am now. I am not an instrument for the will of some higher power, because I _am_ the higher power. I am an empress, and I am a _queen,_ and queen's don't surrender. There is no one, _no one_ who can come and take me off this throne. Not only because I _won't let them, _but because they _can't_. They're not even going to get anywhere near me.

I am a _queen, _and even though I might not have been raised in a castle, and I've gone unnoticed by the majority of my family my entire life, that doesn't mean I'm not royalty. Just because I'm not always the perfect example, no matter how hard I might try to be, doesn't mean that I'm not powerful. Because that's exactly what has turned me into the woman I am today. The fact that I'm not perfect, and that I haven't led the story-book life and gotten my prince, my knight in shining armor.

So what, if I have regrets. If I have moments that I look back upon and wish I hadn't been so rash, or let my impulses control me. So what if I wish that I'd not been so harsh with Maximus and ruined every chance I might have ever had with him back in District One during my goodbyes? So what if I occasionally long for another chance with Panya, to perhaps right the wrongs between us and explain my feelings for her, and how I only see her as a friend? Everyone has those. Everyone has events in their lives that they wish they could change, they could alter, but it's too late now. There's no going back, and there's no real use in looking back and wishing you could change the past. An elderly woman once told me, back home, not to stumble over something behind me. At the time, I had simply shrugged it off, scoffing. Now, though… it makes sense. It's about how I deal with the things in my past. It's whether I control it, or let it control _me._

I refuse to let anything take control of me. I refuse to be used as a stepping stone _one more time._ I've been overlooked for the entirety of my life. I've been trodden on, pushed down, and it will never happen again. From this point onwards, there isn't anything that can diminish me. There isn't anything that can wipe the gleam from my eyes, there isn't anything that will break me down. I won't let it.

And so I laugh. Sitting here, leaning against a building, bathed in an electric glow, I laugh. It's been a good long while since a real smile has come to my face, and this one fills me with a vibrant glow, echoing through my whole body and making me feel _alive._ Yes, it's true that the Hunger Games change every participant, leaving their mark on every Victor to be lifted out of their Arena via hovercraft. But perhaps those marks aren't all bad.

Perhaps the Hunger Games, _my_ Hunger Games, have made me realize just how strong I am. Just exactly how much I am truly capable of, and my true potential. _The Hunger Games. Who knew,_

I remember thinking that I was going to need to make a statement. Something truly spectacular. _That won't be difficult._ Not anymore.

I've realized something, after a few hours wandering the grandiose spires and majestic buildings of this metropolis. This isn't just any random design thrown together on the whim of a Gamemaker. This is a true representation of the Capitol, and I know exactly what kind of example I want to set. What kind of message I want to send.

Because I am a queen, and every queen needs a throne.

A slow smile spreads across my face as I rise from my seated position and haul my new pack over my shoulder, and begin laying my trail of breadcrumbs.

A taunt. A challenge, for anyone who thinks they can best the Queen of Ice and Wind, the White Dragon in combat, who can dethrone me.

_Come and get me._

_I dare you._

o0o

**Asher Foster (17) District Five Tribute**

A harsh wave of satisfaction goes through me at the cannon shot. _That had to be Aegis._ I know where I tore him open, and no matter what Thames would have tried to do, that wound was fatal.

My first instinct is roaring at me to charge into the trees, claws out and fangs bared, and murder that arrogant Carrer boy where he is surely sobbing over his lover's corpse. But I can't be so reckless. I have to remember that I'm in the final three of the Hunger Games now. I can't throw anything away, not this lead that I've gained on one of my competitors. I need to push every advantage I can, and rushing off to my potential death is not the way to go. _There is no more room for error. There is no room for mistakes. I have to play this perfectly, or everything comes crashing down around me._ It's inevitable that these Games will end in ruin for someone, but if I have any say in it, I will not be the emperor standing among his lost kingdom, watching his dreams fade and blow away, like sand on the wind. _Not on my watch._

I'm in one big charade, one big game, and the Capitol, the audience, loves drama. They love watching people suffer, they cry and laugh and place worthless bets on the deaths of 23 innocents. _And as wrong as that is, as fucked up as they might be, I have to play by their rules._ Just for a little longer. As a Victor, I can begin pouring over the entire rulebook and perhaps tweaking a few things here and there, gradually, before ending this whole masquerade of blood and gore. _This world needs something more than what is being given._ Panem doesn't deserve the iron fist that looms over us, always raised and ready to deliver a crushing blow.

But it's what we're stuck with today, and there's nothing to be done about it, except perform for them, dance like a puppet with its strings pulled, and pray that no one gets hurt. _Play the crowd. Play the game, and you win, because you follow the rules, and the President notices._ He notices, and favors those who seem to support him- whether they be Tribute or citizen alike.

_The Capitol loves a show…_ so I'll give them one. One they'll never forget. One that District One will never forget. A lesson, to show what happens to those who think they can disgrace the Wolfchild of District Five.

The forest isn't nearly as intimidating as it was when I first entered the Arena. In fact, it feels a little familiar- a little more like home turf as I enter the treeline and begin my search for the Career.

If I recall correctly, he and Aegis fled to the West after the Feast, although I was a little preoccupied with trying to save myself and still pick up the supplies I needed. I'd unfortunately ended up being chased away from the Cornucopia and all the fortune it held… but I don't need fortune. I don't need luck to win this fight. All I need are my wits and my claws, and I have both, my hands curled into fists by my side as I prowl through the strangely lit trees.

This reminds me, strangely, of all the times I've been preparing for a move in the markets of District Five. When I would be watching from the shadows of any alleyways, or sulking on the rooftops of a building, keeping a sharp eye on Peacekeeper patrols, while trying to come up with the best plan to get in, steal my prizes, and slink out, with minimal damage. While we were fed at the houses that we were kept in back home, the food was often stale bread and potato rinds. Nothing to be excited about. Nothing like the fresh fruits I would bring back, or perhaps some roasted meat from a trader's stall.

It reminds me, because in essence, this is the same thing. The hunt, the track, the plan. The calm before the storm, the silence before the strike.

The metallic song of a sword being unsheathed drags my attention away from my own thoughts. _There you are._

Keeping my footfalls light, I creep over to a tree, and peek around it, careful not to reveal my position.

Yes… there he is. Crouched against the Arena ground, a sword in his hand, turning it over and over in his palm, studying every inch of the blade.

_Weapons…._ He has so many weapons on him. Swords, daggers, knives, a spear… but the real question comes down to if he has the heart to use them. If that fighting spark inside him has been doused and put out, of if Aegis´ death only served to heighten it and make it burn even brighter. _Time to find out._

No matter what, it's me who's going to win the fight. Who cares if he chased me off the Feast loot, and went back to claim it for himself. At the end of the day, it's going to be _his_ bloodied and broken body on the Arena ground, and me in the final.

I could always assassinate him. Take him down in the dead of night, when he's too exhausted to stay awake any longer. Slip in, slit his throat, and watch him choke on his own blood.

But, if I have anything, in these last few days of my Hunger Games, I have my honor. And I'm not going to be some sneak-in-the-night assassin who's too cowardly to face his adversaries head on. That's not who I am. I didn't flee from the she-wolf in District Five, I won't flee from a heartbroken Career in the Capitol.

_I'm done running._

I voice the statement aloud, and watch as Thames Venturi stills at the words. Something in his golden eyes has frozen over as he glances over to look at me as I approach through the trees, into his sanctuary.

"I would watch my tongue, if I were you," he answers, and his voice is laced with a deadly quiet. He's surprisingly calm- too calm. The killing sort of calm, that overtakes you and turns your veins and soul to ice and hoarfrost, freezing out any guilt- or any other feeling that might slow one down on their path to vengeance. "I would watch my tongue… or I might be tempted to rip it straight out of your body."

**o0o**

**4th: Aegis Harlow (18) District Two Tribute. Submitted by **_**Paradigm of Writing. **_**Killed by blood loss, kill contributed to Asher Foster. Oh. Oh, **_**fuck me**_** writing this hurt. It hurt so god-damn much and I've probably made my boyfriend sad and I feel horrible. Aegis… Aegis, Aegis, Aegis. I loved you. So. Fucking. Much. I need to go cry now. God… I don't think I can deal with this. You were phenomenal and astounding and tortured and positively wicked. You were my absolute favorite to explore, just in terms of breaking you down and looking into **_**who you were,**_** as a tribute, as a character, fuck, as a **_**person. **_**Rest in peace, Aegis Harlow. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 4/1/2]**

**o0o**

**Alliances:**

_**Shards of Gold and Midnight: **_**Thames Venturi (D1M)**

_**Ice Has Melted Back To Life: **_**Halliday Frost (D1F)**

_**Bared Claws and Dripping Fangs:**_** Asher Foster (D5M)**

**o0o**

**A/N: Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm going to cry. **

**I have nothing to say, goodbye, gift me with hugs and love and ice cream if you feel bad for a heartbroken author.**

**(Okay, okay, I'm not **_**that**_** torn up about it, but still. Also, my excuse for this chapter being so late is that it was mentally damaging to write, especially Thames's second pov, and I wasn't able to precisely deal with it in the way I would have liked too.) **

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever **_**in your favor,**

**~SetFires (Vix)**


	34. Retribution

**A/N: Brief warning for explicitly described blood and gore in Thames's final PoV, viewer discretion is advised. Also, don't eat before reading. Thus the rating has jumped to M.**

o0o

_"And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me!"_

_I can't help this awful energy_

_God damn right, you should be scared of me_

_Who is in control…?"_

_~Control (Halsey)_

o0o

**Halliday Frost (18) District One Tribute**

This place is a true work of art. Whether it's a direct replica of President Seren's mansion, or something that was inspired by whatever marvels what the walls would hold, this building is _majestic._ There is no other word for it. It's almost like a castle, spires reaching for the sky, a balcony overlooking the chariot avenue that 24 of us rode down not so long ago. _And that only one of us will ever get to see again._

I decided a long time ago that if I ever were to enter the Hunger Games, my last stand would be somewhere worthy of a song. Somewhere that everyone would remember- not as the place that a Victor was crowned, were I to die, but as a place where a warrior drew her last breath. It wouldn't be _them_ who remembered, my would-be killed, but me. A queen with the heart of a dragon.

And this is the place.

There's something poetic about the final battle being here. I'm in the top three- and if Thames and Aegis are my two remaining competitors, they're going to tag-team me before turning on each other for the crown. And if, somehow, it's one of them dead… if it's one of them dead, then the other will surely be seeking vengeance on the Wolfchild. An unstable, unknown force- Asher, if he's still alive, would be the next to go. And either way, that leaves me, here. A dragon queen in her own throne room, waiting for a demigod to challenge her to a duel.

I will not dishonor myself by being beaten in my own throne room. I will defend my crown, the crown of a Victress, until the very end, and that end will come when my opponent lies dead at my feet, one of my knives buried in his chest. I have _earned _this. I _deserve it. _And I'm very well going to take it.

There's no point in making it this far if I drop the ball now. No point in me demanding recognition and failing where it really counts, one step away from the ultimate prize: safety.

Safety, and the recognition that I've been craving for so long. It's not _about_ being famous, it's not about winning the Hunger Games _just for the sake of it._ It might be a few added perks, but that's not the reason why I Volunteered. I Volunteered because I was a young girl who only wanted her family to notice her. _The Games might change people, that much is certain._ But if there's one thing that the typhoon and whirlwind of this vicious game can't quell, it's my spirit. It's that flame that is burning under me, driving me to perfection and to victory. _This flame won't go out._ It might gutter, but no matter the downpour, no matter what comes at me from now on, I'm not going to be some spoiled brat who crumples at the slightest contact.

I am a warrior. A warrior who fights with her whole self, and not just sharpened tools of metal. I was _made_ for this. _This crown is mine, and there's no one in Panem that's going to take it away from me._

I've had enough of staying safe. Of remaining cautious, only showing off when it was a fight I knew I could win, when I could afford to fail and no one knew how to punish me for the small mistakes I was making. This is an environment where I can't afford to mess up, but I also can't keep my cards close to my chest. There's no longer the option for me to be conservative, not if I want the recognition that I've always dreamed of. I have to add an edge of danger to my performance that this show has been lacking. The crowd loves that. The Capitol- they don't want to watch a girl hiding in wait for her next assailant like a coward. They want a woman who seeks out her next target, and lures them into her ideal territory.

I've spent far too long playing this game cautiously. Up until that little stunt I pulled at the Cornucopia, but that hardly counts. I knew I was going to get away with that- and that I was a better driver on the cycles than any of my competition. There wasn't anything real at stake, there, and if I'm bartering for my life, all my cards need to be laid on the table. I can't hold onto my ace any longer. I can't be some pushover girl who thinks she's a princess but can't keep a hold of her crown.

I'm going to be a queen, and a queen has to play with fire. _No more chains. No more shackles._

_It's time to break free._

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District One Tribute**

_I used to have the world. _

_I used to know how to smile, how to laugh. I used to know what the word beautiful meant. I used to know how to love someone. _

_Now, I don't know any of that. I can't remember what used to fill the holes in my heart. There are times now, that I don't remember how to feel. When my mind and body go numb, and all that's left is _fear and anger and horror and red, red, red.

_I can take a breath. Inhale shakily, the air frigid in my lungs, and try to forget Aegis, to get rid of the pain, but that's so selfish_ and lonely, and how could I forget Aegis- bright, passionate Aegis, who'd been there for me through everything? I'm so selfish, and so lonely… so lonely without Aegis here beside me.

_And without feeling, there is no love, no light, and the darkness comes. Oozing through the cracks of my shattered sanity, creeping and crawling and devouring until I am feral with rage. I sometimes think I am screaming because there is no Aegis. That's the insanity. It's dark and red, howling and choking and drowning in blood, and it's ripping me apart, and slowly, I crumble into pieces._

_Then the tears come. They hurt so much, and I try to forget, to become an unfeeling creature of gold and untouchable ice, try to forget and not_ feel_._ _I don't want to remember what it's like to feel, because it hurts too much. But Aegis deserves more than that._

_And so I cry instead, _twisting, curling, rocking back and forth, body wracked with sobs and screams of loss, of being torn apart inside. Of something precious missing, and willing to do anything to forget, forget, forget-

_I don't remember what it's like to feel anymore._ But I can never forget the pain. _It has become a part of me. Everytime I open my eyes, I remember Aegis. The familiar feeling of a life spluttering out from beneath my hands can take away the sorrow. Tears that once streamed out, relentless and unending, have gone. The ache in my heart is still there, but I don't remember what it's like to feel the loss and the sorry that you will never see someone else again. I can't even remember the anger, anger that Asher had killed him, that all I once held dear is gone. No, it's vanished. The light of fury has dimmed and instead, all I feel is something hollow._ Exhaustion. Pain.

_People say that the descent into insanity is a slow one. One that you don't even realize is happening before it's too late, and you've transformed into something you can't control. _

_And yet here I am. Falling apart, torn into pieces and living in a waking nightmare, trying not to scream and wondering if my tears have turned into blood. _

_I am struggling in a losing battle._

_And it's only a matter of time before I merge with this dark, irresistible creature that's rising up inside me, and this angel falls from heaven and becomes the greatest demon Panem has ever known. I can_ feel _something inside me- something dark, something with fangs and a malicious smile, fangs dripping crimson- crack open an eye. As if I've awoken a long-slumbering beast. One with untapped, unrestrained power. _

_It's only a matter of time before I am gone, and a monster emerges._

So when Asher Foster steps into my clearing- when he makes his brash, cocky declaration, it is no surprise that the monster finally breaks free.

And I can no longer tell where the demon ends and I begin as I turn to face the child of wolves, and the song in my blood, in my bones, narrows down to one single word. _Kill._ There is no resisting the blood-drenched call. There is no turning back from the creature I have become.

_You're already dead meat._

o0o

**Asher Foster (17) District Five Tribute **

There's nothing human in Thames as he rises to his feet. His movements are too smooth to be anything but practiced- trained. _A pureblooded Career._ Raised for bloodshed and killing. Bred for taking part in the slaughter of innocents, and taught to revel in their screams.

_It's dogs like you that we strive to put down._ Back in District Five, we lived by a code. A code of thieves, a code of bandits and misfit, but a code nonetheless. One that we stuck too, honored with our very lives.

But in the higher Districts- like One and Two and Four, they were taught no such honor. _Kill, kill, kill…_ that's all it was. Nothing else to it. Murder an innocent, wash the blood of your blades, and do it again. Day after day, until you were the last person left standing. Simple. Easy as breathing, natural as walking.

His threat hangs in the air between us, and the implications in his voice are clear. _Run._

I will do no such thing. _I'm done running._ I said it once, and I'll say it again. I'm finished being a coward. There's nothing that can change my mind now. There's nothing I fear, there's nothing that can hurt me. I only have two years left until I meet death anyway- all I'll be doing if I win these Games is delaying it.

I stand my ground.

Thames just stares at me for a moment. A second, maybe. Or it could be a minute, or even five. A preternatural stillness has settled over him- every muscle in his body tense, the only thing that hints that he's even still alive being the barely there rise and fall of his chest as those golden eyes bore into mine.

I don't expect what he does next.

Thames whips around, sword still in hand, and bolts out of the clearing.

Only years of living on the streets and learning how to deal with the unexpected jolts me into movement after him, instead of leaving me standing there for another few, valuable seconds with my mouth hanging open from the strangeness of it all.

But really, I consider as I race after his retreating figure, what did I expect? I always knew what Thames Venturi really was from the start, and it wasn't a fighter.

_Coward._ He can put up a good front, that's for sure, but once the flames get too hot, he'll drop the ball and try to escape. _There's nowhere you can go that I won't catch you, Thames. _

Although… as Thames leads me deeper and deeper into the forest, I begin to wonder what he's playing at. If he were truly running from me, wouldn't he want to find an open stretch of ground where he could activate his light cycle and try to outrun me that way? A footrace will only serve as a way to fatigue him, and as much as I don't want to admit it, Thames is smarter than that.

And as his golden head dips out of view, rounding a corner as if cutting back, the admission proves all too true.

I recognize the trap a second too late. The snare, hidden against the black of the Arena floor, the loop that I've just stepped into. _Shit, shit, shit._ I spring forward- but by then it's too late. The rope has tightened around my ankle, and somewhere, rope has gone taut and I'm being hoisted into the air, the blood rushing to my head and making me dizzy. _No! No, no, no, no-_ I thrash around, dangling in the air and desperately swinging back and forth, trying to muster the strength to haul myself back up and maybe undo the ropes with the knife in my hand.

But I'm caught, surely as a fly in a spider's web, and from the low, soft laugh from somewhere behind me, I know that the hunter is closing in on his prey. Something in my stomach curls up into a pathetic little ball at my next realization: the hunter in this chase was never me. The predator was never a wolf, but rather a golden dragon, amber-eyed and hungry for revenge.

And he has no intention of playing with me before he takes his prize.

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District One Tribute**

Savage glee floods through my veins at the sight of Asher Foster trussed up and hanging from a tree limb, dangling a good three feet above the ground, twisting and writhing in his bonds. _Oh,_ I gloat, taking a moment to drink in the sight. _How the mighty have fallen._

I approach swiftly, my feet light upon the ground as I step towards Aegis' killer. _I have a point to prove, and you have a lesson that must be learned. _My methods of teaching in this situation might not be optimal, but I'm assured that they are effective, if anything. _Let this foolish cub be an example to any who dare hurt me in the future. I am capable of so much more than any of us could have ever dreamt me to be._

Quick as a viper, I lash out with a hand and wrap my fingers around Asher's right wrist- his hand still clenched around his knife. I squeeze- vice-tight and without mercy, until his fingers spasm and the blade falls from his grip. He makes a ferocious noise in the back of his throat, and lashes out with his other hand. All I do is smirk and take a step back. There's nothing he can do to hurt me.

"You," I purr into his ear, "Have caused a whole lot of trouble, lately. What with that wound you put in Aegis' stomach yesterday. He's dead, by the way." It's an effort to keep my voice casual. Cool, aloof. "Although you won't be attributed with the kill. It serves you right, I suppose. It's only what you deserve, after all the effort you've gone to, to put us through _hell._" I run the sharpened edge of a dagger along his jawline. "_And,_ not to mention the fit you threw back in the Capitol. I think it's high time someone put you down, wolf cub."

Asher thrashes, and, predictably, snarls.

I don't flinch, and my sword opens his back wide open.

His scream is drowned out by the thrumming of blood in my ears and the thudding of my heart. Ice is pouring through my veins, freezing everything over with a layer of hoarfrost, and there is no coming back from this.

I lean down, slide a hand across the blood pooling along his spine, and whisper, "Do you know what I'm about to do to you, child of wolves?" I reach deeper, flesh and sinew giving way beneath my nails as I locate a rib, and close my fist around it. "I'm going to make you into something more beautiful than you've ever dreamed of."

There's blood.

Blood all over my hands, my arms, covering my scar. Pouring out from his mangled back, a sanguine tide that coats my fingers, that infringes on my vision and whispers to my soul.

A man has 24 ribs. There were 24 Tributes in this Arena, once. Not too long ago.

Asher's blood is dripping from my fingers and leaves scarlet tracks behind as I reach over and grip his chin between two fingers. Stepping around his body, I place myself directly in front of him, forcing the Wolfchild to look at me.

"One rib for every Tribute," I warn. "One for every Tribute dead in this Arena." I smile at him, with a mouth full of teeth. "And one lung for every Tribute who will remain once you're gone."

His eyes go wide in horror as I release my hold and stride back to my previous position.

"I don't mind if you scream for me," I say calmly, and begin.

I twist. Up and back and _out_ in a single movement. His shattered rib breaks through untorn skin and juts up at the _perfect_ angle.

_Crack. Crack. Crack. _Three more ribs tear pale skin, white and red and pink in the dimming lights of the Arena.

"_Count." _I order. "That's seven. We're on eight."

_Crack._

Asher howls his agony to the rising moon, but no words emerge from that terrible sound.

"I said," I murmur, gripping another rib and _twisting_, "_Count."_

It takes him another five ribs to begin sobbing out the numbers.

All the way to 21.

It's almost too easy to rip out his lungs.

All that is left of the blood that had once flowed thick and crimson through his veins is drying on my hands, and what's staining the Arena ground. Asher's lifeless body is slumped forward, feet dragging in a pool of already congealing blood. He smells like a slaughterhouse, his unseeing eyes wide with fear and still glazed from pain. His body is nothing more than a piece of macabre confetti now, caught mid-motion, falling on wings made of skin.

His cannon shot is still ringing in my ears, and when that declaration ceases ringing in my ears, the second is being broadcasted throughout the entire Arena- throughout the whole of Panem, from screens in the Capitol, from the broadcasts in the Districts, announcing the final two contestants, and wishing us luck. _May the odds be_ ever _in your favor._

And so the two tributes of District One are turned against each other. Fire against ice, gold against silver. And the hottest of fire can melt even the coldest of walls. The odds _are_ in my favor, today. Lady Luck is smiling, and victory is only a single kill away. And with this much blood staining my hands, what's a few more drops? _I'm the one going back home. No matter what it takes for me to get there. _

_These are my Hunger Games._

It's time to find a heartbreaker, and show her how deep the razor edge of my shattered soul can truly cut.

o0o

**3rd: Asher Foster (17) District Five Tribute. (Submitted by **_**Luthien'sLight**_**) Killed via the blood eagle method, courtesy of Thames Venturi. Aight, Asher, there you go! I originally planned on giving you more of an arc but realized that if I made you into a true antagonist, a flat one with no real roundness, I could get more mileage out of you, believe it or not. So, you made it this far, into third place, only to end in a rather bloody way. In my defense, I did have some fun writing you, and I try to keep the characters I like writing alive for as long as possible. Rest in peace, Asher Foster. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 3/1/0]**

**o0o**

**Alliances:**

_**Shards of Gold and Midnight: **_**Thames Venturi (D1M)**

_**Ice Has Melted Back To Life: **_**Halliday Frost (D1F)**

**o0o**

**A/N: Hello, everyone. If you haven't already seen my bio update, I would recommend going and checking that out- I'm not going to go into details, because then everything gets really messy, and I don't want that to happen. It might **_**feel**_ **worse, and have everything end like this, but I'm not going to leave behind a trail of destruction. I don't want to cause anymore disruption then I have too. **

**(sorry for the short chapter, I swear I wanted the word count to be higher but I couldn't add anything else, and is there really anything else that needed to be said here…?)**

**BUT! We have the final showdown, everyone! Halliday vs Thames, and even if Halliday got a higher training score, we know that Thames now has a fire lit under him, and a drive to win! Who do you think will come out on top! It miiiight not be who the odds are in favor of, I'll tell you that- although no spoilers, and love me a red herring. *winks* For like, the three of you who are still reading this, thank you so much for staying with this, and I'm going to try and get the next chapter out asap!**

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever **_**in your favor,**

**~SetFires (Vixen)**


	35. To Have Lost Everything

"_I'm like a scarf trick, it's all up the sleeve_

_I taste like magic, waves that swallow quick and deep_

_Throw the bait, catch the shark, bleed the water red_

_Fifty words for murder and I'm every one of them…"_

_~Victorious (Panic at the Disco)_

o0o

**Halliday Frost (18) District One Tribute**

Everything has been set into motion, and all I need to do is watch my grand plan unfold around me. Originally, I had thought about facing Thames outside the presidential manor, but quickly decided against it. Instead, it is here, in this place, is where statements will be made, remembered, and passed down over centuries.

This is the place where President Seren, the current ruler of Panem, holds court. This is the place where the most influential leaders, the most dauntless of warriors, the genius of scholars, come together. This is where the elite thrive, and _I belong here._

It is only fitting that a duel for power would take place in this room. In this part of the Arena, in this echo of the Capitol, battling for some illusion of grandeur in a place built upon a foundation of lies and bloodshed. Willing to kill for a spectral garland of roses, their petals dark with blood.

And in the end, it's me who will take my rightful place at the Victor's table.

Each and every possible scenario is running through my head- I didn't see the death recap last night, so there's no way of me knowing who I'll be facing.

Will I be facing a heartbroken angel? A stone-hearted gorgon? Or will I be stealing the crown from a child of wolves, born on the streets of District Five? Either way- whoever my opponent is, it's going to be their dead body at my feet and their blood staining my blades.

Even if there are voices in my head that are continually whispering that I am not good enough. That I murdered my own ally, that I have slaughtered my way to where I am now, and that I have no regrets about any of it. _You are a monster,_ they whisper to me. _You are a devil's child, and you do not get to play god._

_I may not get to play god, no._ But I do get to be the judge of my own decisions. The master of my own fate. I've come too far to be second-guessing myself now. I've come too far to look back and fall to my knees amid the red that stains my ledger.

_I was trained for this._ I am a Career, and I was _chosen_ for these Hunger Games. Even if I had a family other than the one waiting for me back home, even if everything was different and Maximus had accepted me. I was _chosen._ I was the best of the best among the girls in District One's training academy, and I earned a training score of 10 for a good fucking reason. It's time I show everyone why exactly I deserve it. Why I deserve the crown, why I deserve their praise and adoration.

_You're a liar,_ the voices breathe._ You're a failure and you won't ever be good enough, and all you can do is desperately hunt for excuses to explain what you have become. _There's a growing pit in the bottom of my stomach that expands with every passing second, with every word the voices hiss, and I _can't stand it._

I haven't had any regrets until this very moment, Until I stepped foot inside this place, inside this throne room, and laid eyes on the seat and crown that awaited me there. But now that I'm here, and the hour of reckoning is nearly upon me, I can't find that pool of calm, nearly trance-like composure that I had found myself in while preparing yesterday. All I can see is waves of disruption rippling across the waters of my mind, and there's a leviathan lurking dangerously close to the surface of my thoughts.

Indeed, everything is scattering at the mere mention of the monster that skulks beneath the depths, and I _have to keep it together._ I can't afford to let my focus slip now- I can't afford to let _anything_ slip now. Everything depends on these next few… minutes? Hours? The passage of time is strange, especially in moments like these.

But it's moments of weakness, of self-doubt, that that will cost me everything. And so deep into the Games, I have everything to lose.

Because if I win these Games, I get everything I've ever wanted. Literally. And as the third-ever Victor of District One, it means I'd have more weight to throw around than those who come after me might.

And if I lose… if I lose, all that evaporates in a puff of smoke, blown away like fog over water. I can't bear the thought of that. I can't stand to think that all of the efforts I've put in has gone to waste.

_Focus is key._

All this is doing for me is getting me off track. Distracting me from the main goal, and that _cannot happen._

The only thing that matters now is my skill with a weapon in my hand and my ability to adapt my strategy to win.

My daggers are a familiar weight, sheathed against my back, flanking the built-in disc on my suit- a secondary weapon, should I need it. I regret not trying to pick up another weapon at the Cornucopia, because surely, whoever I am facing will be loaded down with them. But these knives are all I have ever needed. They are the only instruments of death that I plan on playing tonight and rest assured, the songs they sing will become a symphony that will be heard across worlds.

_I am wind, I am ice, I am the harsh wind across a glittering mountain peak. _Everything my trainers ever taught me is methodically scrolling across my brain- tactics, techniques, the most vulnerable points on a person's body, the weak points in any maneuver an enemy might try to execute.

There is no room for error in the coming battle. The penalty for any mistake is sure death, because no matter who I am facing, they will be just as ruthless as me. Asher might not be trained, but his is the heart of a true-blooded killer, and I cannot afford to underestimate him.

Aegis is quite possibly the deadliest of the three, if not for the fact that he currently has the highest kill count in the Arena, should he still be alive, but of the unbridled _creature_ he can become when he lets bloodlust fully overtake him. There's something stirring beneath the skin of that boy, and it's not wholly human. I have no doubt that I can stand against him and hold my own- given that I fought both him _and_ Thames at once and made it out alive, but anything can happen in the heat of battle.

Thames… if Thames is somehow the person I face, then I don't know how exactly to go about defeating him. There's still a wound, somewhere in a small, hidden part of my heart that hasn't yet healed because of his pseudo-rejection- something that I've beaten myself up over more times than I can count. And because of that, it is perhaps him that I am dreading facing the most. He's worked his way not only under my skin, but into my head, like neither of the other two have, and that is one of the most dangerous things of them all.

_Relax, Halliday._

It's all well and good to have a strategy- to have analyzed the competition and knew what you might all be going up against, but it will do me no good if I'm too shaken by any of the potential outcomes. _Clear your mind._

It takes three deep breaths in and three long exhales out for me to empty my head of the turmoil that clamors for my attention. I simply withdraw into a quiet corner of my mind and close the doors on everything else, leaving me fully aware. Fully alert. Each one of my senses seems to be dialed up to twelve, and I spare a moment to take inventory of my surroundings. The material of the throne- a monochrome silver, a pleasantly surprising difference from the flat black and electric blue of the place- is cold against my thighs. I'm unsure whether the chill in the room is natural or has been set up to make it all the more ominous.

All that's left for me to do is wait. Wait for an angel, for a gorgon, or for a child of wolves to come through those double doors at the other end of the hall. _And then everything comes together._ One final battle, one more movement in an orchestra of chaos and bloodshed.

My answer comes soon enough.

Across the vast expanse of the throne room, the doors are heaved open with a resounding _bang,_ thrown against the wall with such force that they rebound shut within seconds. My breath freezes in my chest, and it's an effort to keep my muscles loose, and my posture lax.

Standing before me, spear strapped across his back alongside his own golden disc, a sword sheathed at his hip, and a righteous fire burning in the depths of his golden eyes, stands Thames Venturi. He carries nothing else than his spear and the disc on his back- no weighted net, no whip, no nothing. I might think him foolish for coming into this battle without so much as armor if it weren't for the assuredness of his stance.

The Thames I knew would have never carried himself in such a way. Not with the pure confidence and hint of dangerous arrogance that he does now.

Neither of us needs words as he levels his spear at my chest, chin raised and his golden eyes lit with some inner fire.

His challenge has been issued. A battle for the throne. For a chance at life.

I have no choice but to accept.

I do so gladly.

o0o

**Thames Venturi (18) District One Tribute**

I find her lounging on a chair made of silver with veins of ice running through the metal. Great, scaled beasts are carved into the throne, all coiled into a nest of claws and fangs, sleeping and fighting, some locked in an endless cycle of devouring one another. Between them flow twisting vines of sapphire and diamond, the thorns glittering in the light. The beasts seemed to writhe in the silvery glow that the currents of electric blue light running through the seat cast.

And sitting there, a diadem of snakes and dragons resting upon her head, is Halliday. Though lovely, she isn't as devastatingly beautiful as I remember her to be. Isn't some goddess of hoarfrost and spite that I imagined her to have become. It makes her all the more petrifying, at first. Her long hair is neatly braided and woven through her serpentine crown, the deep color enriching the glow of her suit, sleek and skin-tight.

She's no longer the heartbroken princess who had a point to prove who I had allied with at the beginning of these Hunger Games.

Instead, she is a queen of crystalline adamant and unbreakable steel.

But there is a darkness in her eyes that speaks to me- a deep-seated determination and ambition that nearly matches the hunger of the monsters inside me.

_A dragon queen and a phoenix king, battling for a crown bathed in the blood of innocents. _

Fire has always melted ice, and this battle will be no exception. _She will melt._ She might be skilled, she might be ferocious, but the fury of a dragon stands no match against the wrath of an angel.

Halliday rises from her throne, and she's cat-like in her grace and agility- aware of her surroundings, of her own thoughts, of her own body. Every iota of that razor-focus is directed inwards. The woman I'm facing isn't the hot-headed girl from District One who scorned the other contestants.

Halliday's daggers glint in the electric blue glow of the Arena, the light reflecting off her blades and bouncing back, stunningly bright. My own sword glitters as well, and I ready myself, adjusting my position as Halliday advances. Her steps are precise, deliberate- the tread of a hunter, closing in on her prey.

_But oh how the tables will turn._ She's not prepared for the hell I'm about to unleash upon her. She's not prepared for exactly how strong I've grown since Aegis' death. Since the event that turned my whole life upside down, and showed me exactly what I am meant to become. _World-ender. Firebringer._

_They will tremble before me._

After this, there will be no one and nothing that can stand in my way. _And I'll be home. Home, _and surrounded with those I have learned to love like sisters and brothers._ Valiance. Bastion._ The monster inside me would not hurt them, because even if it strains at the leash, I have it solidly under my control. _I finally understand what Aegis meant, now._ I hadn't fully been able to comprehend his meaning that first night in the Arena, after the Bloodbath. When he'd pulled me aside, and exhaled his secrets into my ear on a single, hot rush of breath, the promise of danger lurking under his voice sending a forbidden shudder up my spine.

That shudder is running through my body now, but it is one of a different pleasure. A sick, twisted kind that gets your blood racing and heart pounding in ways that a lover never can. There's always something more _thrilling _about everything when lives are on the line.

Halliday is halfway across the room now. Her stance remains loose, but there's nothing relaxed about the way she angles her daggers as she comes towards me. My sword- _Aegis'_ sword- whines in response as I unsheath the blade.

Our final duet begins without so much as a word spoken between us. On the way here I had wondered if there would be a stand-off of words before we let out swords speak for us. If words barbed with hidden intentions and laced with silver would fly through the air, aimed for the heart or somewhere lodged between the ribs. But there is not so much as a whisper as Halliday flings herself at me, her attack fast and lethal, a striking viper lunging for its prey.

I take a quick step back, leaning away from the swipe that would have slit my throat should I have not reacted the moment I did. _So it begins. _

This place- this set-up that she's chosen is incredibly good for ambushes around pillars, and there are so many of them lining the way up to the throne. _One of us gets pinned up against one of those, it's game over. _And there won't be a restart button. _I need to stay away from those._ Halliday is an up-close fighter- she tries to stay close range and just demolish her opponent in a flurry of blades. _Keep her at a distance. Minimize the damage she can do. _

True to form, Halliday's next blow comes hard, and she presses in, taking every advantage, anything that's offered, she snatches it up and claims it as her own.

_Not so fast._

Halliday's third attack forces me to bring my sword up to parry, metal against metal, and the sharp discordance rings out through the room. Through Panem.

We move fast- sometimes the only warning I get is a blur of emerald green and a quicksilver glint of steel before Halliday is striking against my guard, swift as a cheetah across shifting sands, and I'm forced to defend against her skillful onslaught of attacks before preparing a counter strike. This fight is like fighting lightning with fire- dancing together, sparking up at the edges, and blazing up when the two of us collide, again and again and again. Relentless and unstoppable, two forces of nature locked in battle.

And it makes me come _alive._ Every cell in my body is positively _humming_ with energy, and I was _made for this._ All those extra hours I put into training, everything I've ever given up for just a few more minutes at the gym, this is where it all pays off. This is where I _shine. _

With strength I didn't know I had, aided by a massive rush of adrenaline, I shove Halliday back and off me, taking the few, precios seconds in which she staggers back to put valuable distance between the two of us once again, circling her. Sizing her up, like a lion would its next meal.

Halliday moves with me- never taking those piercing green eyes away from me, never turning her back on me. She seems to be daring me to come closer- to try and engage with her. I don't take the bait. "Nice try, princess," I simper.

Halliday's face twists with disgust and she lets out an enraged cry, eyes flashing. _"Don't call me that." _

I only just barely have time to raise my sword as she rushes for me again, knives wickedly sharp as their edges clash against the steel of my own blade as I parry each and every attack, dodging what I can and deflecting what I can't.

Her assault shows no signs of ceasing, her hair flying around her head as she comes at me again, teeth gritted in a snarl. Halliday spins, blades flashing, and rains down a series of backhanded blows, forcing me to concede step after step.

_Come on… one… more… step… now!_ Rearing back, I bring my sword up, angling the edge, and catch her right on the temple. The blade cuts into skin- and while the blow is not fatal, she still lets out a cry of pain and staggers away, her hand instantly going to her head. Her eyes go wide as it comes away red, and she shakes her head hard. Trying to clear the blood from her eyes.

_Good._ If she has blood in her eyes, or even just one of them, that impairs her sight- and if she's even a quarter of a fraction off her mark, that could mean the difference between life and death- just as surely as it could determine mine, it could determine hers as well.

_I'm going to win this._ I don't need to change anything about how I'm facing her down- even if I've made a few mistakes along the way, it's vital that I stay true to what I know best- if I try something new I make mistakes, and if I make a mistake, I die.

And, of course, Halliday proves me wrong the second that thought crosses my mind. Her next series of strikes is pure aggression- her every blow harder than the last, raining down against my blade. I try my best to hold fast against the whirlwind of attacks, but three consecutive blows towards the base of my sword weaken my grip, and with her next hit, the blade clatters out of my hand.

That's seemingly enough to give us both pause- if only for the briefest of nanoseconds. I seize the opportunity and shove my knee into her gut- one of the dirtiest tricks in the book, but there's nothing else I can use to my advantage, and like _hell_ I'm losing this fight because I wasn't able to keep a hold of my god-damn weapon.

The underhand blow doesn't keep Halliday down for long, though. She doesn't even double over. What it does do, however, is give me time to take a lightning-quick survey of the room. My sword is a good fifty yards away now, though, and Halliday stands between me and it. The only other weapons I have on me are my spear and my disc- and the former won't do anything if I can't throw it straight and true. If I can't kill her with the spear on the first shot, there isn't any point in using it.

My disc, on the other hand… I reach back cautiously. Keep my eyes trained on Halliday. She stares right back, her stare wary as that of a cornered animal. Unhooking the disc from my suit, I grip it in my hand, refusing to wince as the edges of the thing cut into my skin. _If Azer was wrong about this, I'm going to murder him._ According to a note I had received a few days back, after Aegis and I had abandoned the Career Pack, they were supposed to return to the person who's suit matched the disc color. Some new Capitol technology, he'd said. _Time to test that technology out, then._

The disc ricochets around the room- electric sparks sent up in its wake as it collides with pillars etched and inlaid with golden thorns, before thudding back into my hand. The sharp edges dig into my skin, but I ignore the pain in favor of lining up my next shot. My spear lies only a few feet away- but I know better than to make a move for it.

Halliday has moved into a more defensive position at this point- her chest heaving, sweat shining on her brow as she surveys me from the other end of the room. She hasn't yet drawn her own disc- but why would she? _She hasn't been disarmed once this entire fight._

_It's high time I fix that._

This time, instead of trying to take off her head with my disc, I focus on the hilt of the dagger gripped in her right hand. _She's right handed, and her style of fighting is dual weapons. _If I can even take one out of the equation, the scales tip in my favor. But if I can further that imbalance by forcing her to either switch hands mid-fight and try to regain her second weapon, or if I can press my advantage while she's forced to fight with her weak hand, the odds are in my favor.

My aim doesn't fail me. And Halliday lets out a sharp cry of pain and withdraws, her knife falling from her bloody hand as she recoils. I don't know that the disc did, but as it curves back around and thuds into my waiting hand, making me wince with the pain of impact, it's obvious it had more than the desired effect.

Her next scream is significantly higher pitched, and as I watch, she brings her injured hand close to her chest, cradling it tight, and now silent tears are running down her beautiful face. She has the mind to scoop up her other dagger before retreating behind a pillar, putting a solid object between her and me. If nothing else, it's clear that whatever happened has taken her out of the fight, if only for a few minutes.

I risk the dash across the floor, trusting that whatever I did to my adversary would keep her preoccupied while I regain my weapon.

The risk pays off, and by the time I've gotten from the place where my sword dropped back to the far side of the room, Halliday has decided that she's ready to fight again.

But it's clear that something's _off._ She isn't moving as fast as she did before. Where her movements were once like how the ocean waves pushed and pulled, they are now disconnected and unsteady.

_This is my chance._

Her right hand is covered with blood- the hilt of one of her daggers slicked crimson with it- as she drops into an unsteady defensive crouch as I twirl my sword into a ready position, size her up, and attack.

I fly for her, and she falls straight into my trap. The fake overhead, the side-step grapple, and finally, the final blow- slashed straight up her ribcage, and as I recoil back, reclaiming my ground, I use my momentum from the attack to take her down.

_Victory is _ is down- on both knees, her chest heaving as she tries to regain her footing. Victory is _mine_, and there's nothing that can take it away from me now.

The monsters in my head, in my heart, are roaring with delight. In triumph. They're singing dark songs that only I can hear, intertwining with my own thoughts and weaving a darkened, destructive melody in their wake.

There's only one thing left for me to do. Just one more name to cross off the list before I can be done with this. Before I can return home to my friends, to the family I have created, and prove to the Panem, to the _Capitol,_ just what kind of creature they have succeeded in creating.

I might be a demon- I might be something far, far worse. But I find it hard to care, as I find a dragon queen kneeling before me, defeated for the entirety of Panem to bear witness too.

And I close in for the kill.

o0o

**Halliday Frost (18) District One Tribute**

There is no breath in my lungs. There is no noise in my head except my own gasps for that precious, vital air and the frantic _thud thud thud _of my heartbeat. My knees bark in agony from the harsh impact against the floor of the hall, but that's little more than an itch compared to the burning in my side, the agony that races through me with each desperate heave for air. My right hand throbs in time with my other wound- and I can barely look at it. At the shortened, bloody stumps of my fingers, the ends of which were sheared off by Thames' disc.

And all I get for my attempts is suffering, because I can't seem to find enough oxygen. There's nothing that's waiting for me except death. A black void, an abyss that threatens to swallow me whole.

_After all I've endured, is this what it comes too?_

I can't block. I can't slash, and I'm on my knees, near helpless before the unending fury of an archangel.

_This can't be how I die._

Everything around me seems to have gone silent. The world, frozen.

_I have to win this. There is no alternative. I have no other choice._

In a moment of sheer desperation, I brace myself against the floor as best I can and slam the hilts of my twin daggers together, the slick of my blood making my fingers scrabble desperately against the inlaid hilts.

Thames never even breaks stride.

He impales himself on my daggers.

Right through his heart.

That's the thing about good, sharp swords. Given the right conditions, they can and will cut through almost anything. Even through armor. Always through flesh. And mine had found the space between Thames' ribs. His forward momentum did the rest.

I flinch, and then his body slams into me, throwing me back and down to the ground. For a brief, horrible moment, I panic as I lie pinned to the Arena floor by the weight of him, bile rising in my throat. I thrash and struggle, shoving up with all my might and heave him off me. He rolls away limply, and my breath catches in my chest at the strange, glittering light that still gleams in his eyes. But it's fading fast.

All I can do is stagger to my feet and stare down at his limp body. At those dulling golden eyes, and read the last words from his lips as he exhales them to the ceiling of a throne room that had held his one chance at salvation.

Some distant part of me knows that I should be on my knees beside him. That I should be honoring him by listening to the last things he has to say, and pass them onto anyone he should wish, in his final moments. But that unspoken bond between us thrums to life again- the one that had allowed us to communicate during the Tribute Parade, and during the fight against Lauren Silver's four-man alliance in the early Game. It thrums to life one last time, and those burnished metallic eyes say it all. _I'm sorry._

I shake my head back. _There is nothing to forgive._ The better fighter won. We both knew that only one of us would be walking out of here alive, and while we both had different motives, there was always the underlying thirst for danger in Thames' motives. It was in his eyes from the beginning- from the gleam in them as he knelt to offer me the rose on the chariot, in front of Panem, to the glitter in that gaze as he drove his spear home through the chest of the boy from District Three, securing the first kill of the Hunger Games for the Careers. It was there from the beginning to the end, and that's what ultimately got him killed.

And as if to prove my point, the final cannon sounds not three seconds later.

To every rule, there is an exception- even in the Hunger Games. Even in the dark, beautiful hell pit of the Arena, where the only rule is death, there is a survivor. A sheep who escapes the slaughter. One will find that there is an art to survival, and it seems that I have mastered the craft. Ice has beaten fire. The phoenix has fallen, and will not be reborn.

And Halliday Frost is the only tribute left standing.

The voice of Tiberius Hearthstone explodes around me, and then there's applause, thunderous acclaim that lifts me up on wings made of gold, taking me higher and higher and higher, until I feel like I can touch the stars themselves.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Halliday Frost of District One, the Victor of the 26th annual Hunger Games!"_

The roar of the Capitol floods my senses. A relentless, thudding beat that works its way under my skin, into my bloodstream, and intoxicates me on a rush of power and adrenaline and pure _delight._

_Halliday Frost, Victor of the 26th annual Hunger Games!_

Victor.

Victrix.

_Queen._

o0o

**2nd: Thames Venturi (18) District One Tribute (Submitted by **_**thorne98**_**) Killed by a knife to the heart, courtesy of Halliday Frost. Thames… oh, Thames. You came so, so close to the throne. To going home, like you had finally decided you wanted to do. But you're dead now, and hopefully reunited with Aegis in whatever afterlife exists in a world such as Panem. I adored writing you, and there isn't anything I regret about taking you all the way into the finale. Thorne, I don't know where to begin in thanking you for sending me such a beautiful character to work with, no matter what you say of him. I hope I've done him justice in your eyes, and after hashing things out with you, while I still grieve for him, I finally believe I've done the right thing by taking Halliday through. Rest in peace, Thames Venturi. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 5/1/2]**

**o0o**

**Death Recap:**

**Victress of the 26th annual Hunger Games:****Halliday Frost **_**(Paradigm of Writing)**_

**2nd: Thames Venturi **_**(thorne98) **_**Killed by a dagger through the heart, courtesy of Halliday Frost**

**3rd: Asher Foster **_**(Luthien'sLight)**_** Killed via the blood eagle method, courtesy of Thames Venturi**

**4th: Aegis Harlow **_**(Paradigm of Writing) **_**Killed by a fatal stomach wound, courtesy of Asher Foster**

**5th: Phoenix 'Killian' Doppelman **_**(sherazade96)**_** Killed by a spear through the throat, courtesy of Thames Venturi**

**6th: Mikail Drakil **_**(Luthien'sLight) **_**Killed by getting stabbed through the eye with his own rib, courtesy of Asher Foster**

**7th: Lauren Silver **_**(GreyWolf44)**_** Killed by getting her stomach ripped open, courtesy of Killian Doppelman**

**8th: Ambrose Volta **_**(dsalazz)**_** Killed by a broken neck, courtesy of Killian Doppelman**

**9th: Sash Radcliffe **_**(ShippingDeity)**_** Killed by a slit throat, courtesy of Halliday Frost**

**10th: Jordan Wheaton **_**(Luthien'sLight)**_** Killed by a knife through the heart, courtesy of Halliday Frost**

**11th: Athena Shier **_**(Team Shadow)**_** Killed by an axe through the skull, courtesy of Jordan Wheaton**

**12th: Aveline Wren **_**(thorne98)**_** Killed by decapitation, courtesy of Halliday Frost**

**13th: Danielle Oakwood **_**(GreyWolf44)**_** Killed by a spear severing her spine and piercing her heart, courtesy of Thames Venturi**

**14th: Natalia Oakly **_**(SparrowBirdEliza)**_** Killed by a slit throat, courtesy of Asher Foster**

**15th: Thorne Raven **_**(ShippingDeity)**_** Killed by a knife through the heart, courtesy of Halliday Frost**

**16th: Marina Bloyster (**_**Percy Ross Vlucha Uchhai)**_** Killed by a spear through the heart, courtesy of Thames Venturi**

**17th: Mic Klaus **_**(Percy Ross Vlucha Uchai) **_**Killed by a sword through his throat, courtesy of Aegis Harlow**

**18th: Brandon Scorn **_**(Team Shadow)**_** Killed by decapitation, courtesy of Aegis Harlow**

**19th: Elwood Liang **_**(thorne98) **_**Killed by getting ripped in half, courtesy of FANG**

**20th: ****Sierra Encantada **_**(sherazade96)**_** Killed by asphyxiation, courtesy of Aegis Harlow**

**21st: Santeena Paige **_**(dsalazz)**_** Killed by an arrow through the heart, courtesy of Sash Radcliffe**

**22nd: Lancia Carerra **_**(thorne98)**_** Killed by lack of a throat, courtesy of Asher Foster**

**23rd: Scythe Tonium **_**(ShippingDeity) **_**Killed by an arrow through the throat, courtesy of Athena Shier**

**24th: Herold Lachin **_**(Luthien'sLight)**_** Killed by a spear through the heart, courtesy of Thames Venturi**

**o0o**

**A/N: Oh my God. Oh god, we've done it, we're here, and the finishing point and we have a winner, and I think I need to sit down. **

**My friends, we have a Victor! My first **_**ever**_** Victor, and that title goes to the Dragon Queen of Ice and Wind, Halliday Frost, our District One female, given to me by **_**Paradigm of Writing. **_**Halliday, love, you were absolutely brilliant, and there is **_**so much more**_** of your arc to be discovered. I can't wait to see everything else you'll accomplish in the rest of your lifetime, and the journey will be beautiful. Halliday, cheers to you, love! You're a Victor!**

**We're not finished with this story quite yet though, guys! Chapter 36, **_**Of Crowns and Queens **_**will bring Halliday's Hunger Games journey full circle as she rejoins her friends and family back in District One!**

**Everyone, please! One last round of applause to our Victor, Miss Halliday Frost!**

…

… **and now to deal with reactions... Para. Stop looking at me that way, lol. I know- I know what I've been talking to you about. But this is something Thorne and I agreed on at least a month ago. Two months? A long time, anywho. We just decided it **_**fit.**_** And it's been the hardest thing to keep it a secret from you, and I know that you wanted Thames to win, but Thorne and I agree that Halliday provides so much more dynamic to the story. Come on. And, heh… there isn't anything you can do about it now that I've written it. This is my story, and I do what I want. **

**BUT. To the rest of you, who have stuck with it, although I'm fairly sure there are only three of you left at this point, thank you so much for staying with me. It means a lot that you've stayed with me and this first story of mine, trainwreck though it may be. I'm writing my notes out to the two who have helped me through more than they can ever imagine here because the author's note at the end of the next and final chapter will be significantly sadder.**

**This first shoutout goes towards **_**Paradigm of Writing.**_** Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart, for being with me through these hard times. It's been a struggle, for both of us, on the occasion, but I always knew I could turn to you for inspiration, for ideas, for a constant to lean on in the sea of change swirling around me. I'm beyond grateful for everything you've done for me and will continue to do. I'm not even sure what else to tell you at this point because I think I've already said everything, either in former chapters, or reviews, or… *shakes head* Either way. Thank you so, **_**so**_** much. **

**And then the second goes to **_**thorne98, **_**one of the most undeservedly underrated authors in the entire world. I'm not even kidding. Thorne, you're an amazing author, friend, soundboard… just an amazing everything in general, and words cannot express how grateful I am to have gotten to know the little bits and pieces of you that I have over the last year. You never cease to amaze me with your beautiful content and stunning control over the English language, and no matter what anyone else thinks, or says, or tries to pressure you into doing something, your own pace is always enough. **_**Always.**_** Remember that I'm here to support you, to encourage and cheer you on from the sideline, and will be for the rest of the time. Until you grow old like Para and I and get arthritis. But I'll be your personal cheerleader if I have to be, pompoms and everything. (Ignore the fact that when I first typed that it autocorrected to condoms.) Thorne, you're **_**stunning**_**, and don't ever forget it.**

**Over, out, and may the odds be **_**ever **_**in your favor,**

**~SetFires **


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